


Ain't scared of the fall

by glaciya



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Enemies to Lovers, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Frottage, Hurt/Comfort, Jeep Sex, Kidnapping, M/M, Minor Character Death, Morally Grey Characters, Mutual Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Recreational Drug Use, Sons of Anarchy AU, Stalking, Switching, That being said there will be a lot of sex and criminal activities, Werewolves exist, and then i threw some plot in there as well, omg jeep sex is a tag bless this fandom, this is really just a saga of Derek and Stiles being too horny for each other for their own good ngl, title is from a Weeknd song bc that's all i listened to while writing this
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-10-05
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-07-25 09:43:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 21,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16194971
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glaciya/pseuds/glaciya
Summary: In which the Sheriff's son falls in love with the vice president of Beacon Hill's motorcycle "club". Oh, and there's werewolves.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [cinnamon_skull](https://archiveofourown.org/users/cinnamon_skull/gifts).



> Hello! So this is a project inspired by SoA, a photo of Dylan O'Brien in leather, and a conversation I had with the giftee of this fic that happened about a year ago but I am the slowest writer Dx  
> It should be about ten chapters long with slower updates and don't worry the chapters after this one are much longer :D  
> Anyway, this is my first ever Sterek fic so I hope I got their dynamic okay! 
> 
> Enjoy!

There’s a stranger in his driveway.

It’s three am. Stiles is only awake because it’s his first night staying in his dad’s new house and it usually takes him at least a week to get comfortable enough to relax in a new place.

During his Sophomore year of college, his dad had transferred to a small town called Beacon Hills with a promotion to be Sheriff there. Stiles had been away at college when the actual move had happened, but he came home for the summer to help his dad get settled in.

So now here he is, in Batman boxers and an old t-shirt, glaring out the living room window at the stranger standing too close to his father’s police cruiser with a crowbar. Unconcerned for his own safety, Stiles grabs the baseball bat he always keeps by the door and marches outside.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?!” Stiles whisper-shouts, bat raised over his shoulder and prepared to swing if needed. 

The man doesn’t even seem surprised by his sudden presence. He just sighs and twirls the crowbar in his hand as he checks Stiles out. Whatever he sees makes him give an amused smirk that somehow offends Stiles.

The mysterious stranger moves forward, allowing Stiles to get a good look at him when he steps into the light shining from the porch. Stiles fights the urge to roll his eyes because of course he’s gorgeous. With his dark hair, light eyes, and smirk that promises trouble, he looks like everything Stiles’ sixteen year old mind would dream of when he first came to terms with his bisexuality.

“I’m teaching the new Sheriff a lesson.” Mr. Criminal McSexy says. Stiles bravely- _ stupidly _ \- doesn’t step back as he continues to move closer. He pauses suddenly just before he bumps into Stiles, nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing as he takes a deep breath. Stiles assumes he’s preparing to go off on a rant, so he hurries to reply.

“What, that you’re too scared of the big bad Sheriff to actually face him in person and instead you wait until he’s not around to make a statement?” And Stiles really should have expected it when McScary’s arms snap out to grab his shirt, twirling him and shoving him up against the cruiser. “Hey! Easy with the merchandise!”

“Maybe I should rough up his son instead of the car.” McRude bares his teeth at him.

“Mhm, sure. Or you could just go back to whatever criminal hideout you came from and let me go back inside, preferably un-maimed.” Stiles licks his lips nervously, confused when McSexy’s eyes flicker down to them for a moment. “Umm, does that sound like a good p-” Stiles’ words trail off with a squeak when he’s lifted from the car and shoved toward his house.

“Go back inside,” McSexy commands, turning his attention back to the cruiser. Stiles gapes at him because, seriously? And then he remembers the baseball bat in his hand.

“No, I don’t think so.” He pushes the end of the bat into McSexy’s chest. “I’m not going back inside until you’re long gone.” Stiles stands his ground even in the face of a glare that promises pain.

“You must be really looking to get some broken bones.”

“If that’s what it takes to get you to leave my dad alone, yeah.” Stiles presses the bat a little harder against McSexy’s chest. He observes Stiles for a moment before giving a small nod. He’s turning and walking away before Stiles finishes letting a breath of relief.

“I’m Stiles,” Stiles calls, finding himself staring after McSexy’s swaying hips as he struts away. “What’s your name?”

There’s silence long enough that Stiles is convinced he’s going to be ignored and then, “It’s Derek.”

“Derek,” Stiles whispers to himself, grinning.

* * *

 

 

 

Stiles considers his dad over his cup of orange juice the next morning. He seems better than when he came to visit Stiles on campus over winter break. Living alone in the same house Stiles’ mother died hadn’t been good for his dad’s mental health. But the new job with new responsibilities, new town, and new house had all lit that spark back in his dad’s eyes.

His dad looks up from where he had been frowning down at his egg white omelette.

“Where’s the yolk?”

“Cholesterol,” Stiles shrugs. “Hey why’d you get transferred here again?”

“The previous Sheriff got caught taking a bribe from the local motorcycle gang so he would overlook certain evidence to put one of their members away. They decided they wanted someone who didn’t have any connections to the gang to step in.”

“Motorcycle gang, huh?” Stiles raises his eyebrows. “Didn’t know a town this small would have one of those. What kinda crime do they get into?”

“Nothing proven yet but it’s highly suspected they’re involved with selling illegal weapons, drug trafficking, and several murders.”

“Jesus,” Stiles breathes, too stunned to even say anything as when his dad starts pouring ketchup all over his omelette. “Now I know why your raise was so big.”

“Had to get me to come here somehow,” his dad says.

Stiles tries to keep the worry off his face as he waits for his dad to finish eating. Having a cop as a dad always brought a slight underlying anxiety to appear every time Stiles watched his dad get ready for work. But the town they lived in before had one of the lowest crime rates in California, and now his dad was going directly against a gang not above murder.

“You’re shaking the table.”

Stiles hurries to stop his bouncing leg before his orange juice tips over. “Sorry.”

“Stiles, I’m gonna be okay.” His dad moves his hand forward as if he’s going to place it over Stiles’ but stops halfway there. Stiles doesn’t bother commenting on that, twirling the remainder of his food around in his plate.

“So,” his dad says after a few moments of heavy silence. “I was thinking you could come to the office with me, check everything out.” And just like that, Stiles’ mood brightens considerably.

* * *

 

The Beacon Hill police station is surprisingly small for a town with such a high crime rate. The few desks that are there have hardly any space between them from lack of room. His dad has his own office though, and Stiles makes sure to inform him of how cool that is.

He frowns when he notices a second, more worn desk sitting in the corner. “Is that where your deputy works?”

“No that’s where our intern is going to work,” his dad answers, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a name tag. Stiles’ jaw drops when he reads the name on it.

“Me?” He takes the name tag when his dad offers it and clutches it to his chest.

“Now, it’s only part time and minimum wage, and you are only allowed to file, answer some phone calls and  _ nothing else _ ,” his dad says sternly.

“Dad I don’t know what-” Stiles flounders, finally moving forward to hug his dad. “Thank you!”

“Just figured it’d look good on your job applications down the line,” his dad grunts, sounding flustered.

Not even twenty minutes later, Stiles is going through all the files that they have on the local motorcycle gang, who apparently have been nicknamed The Wolves, by the town because of the patch of a howling wolf stitched into the back of their leather jackets. It’s a smaller gang, only around ten members or so.

Stiles moves to look through the individual files the members, wrinkling his nose when he sees  an old mugshot of the president, Peter Hale and his creepy smirk. He had been arrested five years back for attempted murder but wasn’t tried do to a corruption of evidence.. He flips to the next file to read about the Vice President :  _ Derek Hale. _

Stiles stares at the scowling picture of Derek Hale, copied from a driver’s license photo. The pen, which he had been tapping against the desk to help him focus while he researched, slowly slides from his fingers and clatters to the floor.

“McSexy,” he whispers.

“What’d you say?” His dad’s voice makes him jump violently in his seat, and Derek’s file falls to the floor, lying face up so his image can continue to scowl at Stiles.

“Huh? I didn’t say anything,” Stiles says, raising his head to give his dad an innocent look. He hopes its innocent anyway, hopes that the look in his eyes reads as  _ I’m an angel of a child who has never gotten themselves into any trouble ever, _ and not  _ oh my God I threatened a local gang member less than twelve hours ago how am I still alive?! _

His dad gives him an unamused look from his seat behind his desk. “Really? Because it sounded like you said the word sexy while looking at,” he leans forward to get a look at the file on the floor, “Derek Hale’s photograph.”

“No sir, totally didn’t say that. Nu uh. Nope,” Stiles laughs. “I think you’re hearing things. I told you all that greasy food would come back to bite you.”

“My diet has nothing to do with my hearing.”

“Must be the old age then.”

His dad looks like he’s about to say something else, then thinks better of it, shaking his head instead. He’s smiling, and Stiles hopes that means that he’ll let it go.

He picks up Derek’s file, tucking the paperwork neatly away and shoving his folder to the back of the file. He goes through the rest of the files, memorizing the information the police have of each of the gang members so he’s prepared the next time he runs into one of them. In such a small town, he knows it’s bound to happen.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi all! As promised chapter two is much longer than the first, and you'll see why the fic has an E rating now ;)  
> Thanks so much for your patience with my slow updates and support for the fic itself in the comments. I appreciate each and every one of you!

Stiles isn’t sure what he’s expecting the week after such an eventful first day at Beacon Hills, but it isn’t boredom. He spends his time doing paperwork for the department, exploring Beacon Hills, and playing Xbox. After meeting the VP of the local gang during his first night, it feels very anticlimactic.

On Friday morning, when he walks into his dad’s office, he’s prepared for more of the same, but the woman sitting at his dad’s desk stops him short.

“You’re not Sheriff Stilinski,” she says.

“Neither are you,” Stiles says. He automatically doesn’t like her, something in her tone makes Stiles feel he’s a child that’s been caught trying to steal candy.

The woman stands, crossing the room to Stiles in just a few steps. She doesn’t stop until she’s  directly in front of him, closer than two strangers normally stand together. She’s beautiful, and normally that’s enough to win Stiles over, but he still can’t get past his dislike of her. He takes a step back to get some space and that makes her smile.

“My office is getting a little crowded, it seems.” His dad’s voice behind him nearly makes Stiles sag in relief. He quickly steps to the side, letting his dad take the woman’s attention from him.

“Ah Sheriff Stilinski, just the man I was looking for.” The woman’s voice deepens just a bit as she practically purrs out her greeting.

_ Gross _ , he thinks. Only, when he receives a sharp side eye from the woman and notices his dad’s jaw working like he’s trying not to smile does he realize that he might have said that out loud. Whoops.

“That’s what the badge says,” his dad chooses to ignore the slip up. “What can I do for you?”

The woman flips her hair over her shoulder, jutting out her chest to draw attention to the badge she has pinned to her suit jacket. “I’m Kate Argent, here on D.E.A business.”

His dad’s expression suddenly sharpens and he looks briefly over at Stiles. “Let’s discuss this in my deputy’s office.”

Stiles pouts as he watches them leave, as much as he didn’t like Kate, he was in desperate need of something interesting to happen.

He gets his wish nearly two hours later, when the roaring of several motorcycles pulling in to the Police Departments parking lot rings through the entire building. Stiles hurries to the office door, peering out at the rest of the department.

The first ones in from the commotion outside are two cops with a handcuffed, nervous looking boy in between them. Stiles recognizes him from the files on the Wolves as Isaac Lahey. He was in his twenties, like Stiles, and hadn’t had any type of record. Though, that looks like it’s about to change.

Immediately after them, Derek Hale himself barges in looking infuriatingly fine in a leather jacket and worn jeans. Marching right beside him is a blonde woman with a tiny skirt and large chest, Erica Reyes, Stiles’ mind supplies him. All the officers around take one look at them and bow up, some of them even place their hands near their gun holster, Stiles notices. He makes a note to tell his dad to put his men through a training refresher course.

Isaac is moved very quickly back toward the interview room while Erica and Derek’s path is blocked by Deputy Parrish, who thankfully doesn’t have his hands anywhere near a weapon. Stiles, ever curious, starts to move to the trio before he even gives conscious thought to it. Although, he doesn’t need to be very close at all to hear Erica’s rage.

“This is bullshit,” her first words are emphasized with a finger jabbed in Parrish’s chest before she calls over his shoulder. “Isaac, sweety, don’t say anything. Our lawyer is on her way.”

“Don’t you people have anything better to do?” Derek’s wrath isn’t as loud as Erica’s, but the sharpness of it, along with his glower, makes quite an impact.

“Unfortunately not,” Parrish says blandly.

“What’s going on?” Stiles asks, since he’s made it to the group by now.

Derek turns the glower to him but it only lasts for half a second, and then Stiles sees the moment Derek recognizes him. The wrinkle between his eyebrows clears and his lips part softly in his surprise. It makes him look even more handsome, which honestly should be illegal. The look fades to another, slightly smug expression as he drags his gaze down the length of Stiles’ body.

“Batman,” he greets, and Stiles’ ears and neck start to turn red.

“You know him?” Parrish asks Stiles.

“ _ You _ know  _ him _ ?” Erica asks Derek.

“We’ve met once,” Derek says.

“Briefly,” Stiles adds hastily. “I stopped him from making a very stupid decision.”

Derek shows him his teeth. It’s probably something he uses to scare most people, but the pang it sends straight through Stiles is definitely not fear.

“They’ve decided to reopen the investigation of the murder of Isaac’s father,” Parrish says, and it takes Stiles a moment to remember that he had asked a question earlier. “Isaac was the prime suspect but then the old Sheriff closed it after stating that there was an obstruction of evidence. Your dad must want to ask him some more questions about that night.”

“Which,  _ again _ , is complete bullshit,” Erica chips in angrily. “He has an alibi and you still just arrested him like a criminal.”

“Doesn’t matter to them,” Derek scoffs. “They’ve already decided Isaac was guilty so they’ll treat him like it without proof.”

“My dad isn’t like that,” Stiles says, thinking of all the nights his father stayed at work late to go over evidence again and again. Innocent until proven guilty, he’d say. “If he wanted Isaac brought in today, then there must have been a good reason for it.”

“Not good enough,” Erica mutters darkly.

Parrish sighs and shakes his head. “Look, why don’t you two have a seat over there,” he gestures to the seats in the lobby, “and wait for either your lawyer to get here or Isaac to be finished with questioning.”

Erica accepts his dismissal with a flip of her hair that she ensures hits Parrish in the face as she turns. Derek moves to follow her but Stiles grabs a hold of his arm before he can move too far.

“I need to talk to you.”

Derek glares at Stiles’ hand on his arm until Stiles lets go of him, and says a gruff, “Fine.”

Stiles ignores looks from nearly everyone in the lobby as he leads Derek into his dad’s office. That is, until he’s closing the door behind them and catches Erica’s narrowed eyes staring his way. He smirks at her without really knowing why he does it, but it’s satisfying to watch her eyebrows rise before the door blocks his sight of her.

The door closes with a click and the air in the office is suddenly charged. Stiles couldn’t place what it was charged with exactly, something heavy and sharp that makes his chest tight and his fingers tingle.

When he turns he finds Derek leaning against his desk, arms crossed in front of him. Whatever is charging the air around them is mirrored directly in his eyes as he stares Stiles down.

“What did you want?” he asks.

_ An excellent question _ , Stiles thinks, pulling his lower lip between his teeth. It takes effort to pull his thoughts back to why he wanted Derek here in the first place. He looks away from Derek to help clear his mind and finds his eyes on the photo his dad has on his desk of the two of them. 

“I need to know if you or any of your Wolves have anymore late night visits planned for my dad.” Stiles turns his attention back to Derek in time to see him smirk.

“Maybe,” Derek says. “Why would I tell you?”

“Because I’m asking nicely.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “I haven’t told my dad yet because I believe in second chances. But if you’re going to blow it just tell me now.”

Derek tilts his head. “And if I said I was, what would you do?”

“To stop you from hurting my dad?” Stiles confirms. “Anything.” He means it too. His dad is the only thing he has left. He isn’t letting anyone take that away from him, even if that anyone is the annoyingly attractive Derek Hale.

Something must show on his face because Derek’s gaze turns sharper, less of that mix between condescending and anger that he usually has and more intrigued. “Even kill if it ever came to that?”

_ Yes _ , Stiles thinks instantly, then he’s shaking his head and sucking in a sharp breath at both Derek’s question and his aggressive thought. “Wait are you trying to kill my dad?  _ No _ . No, you are not-,” Stiles’ words continue to tumble out past his lips as he backs quickly toward the door. Panic at the thought of losing his dad twists his vision.

Derek is faster, following him until his back hits the door and using a palm over Stiles’ mouth to get him to shut up.  _ “Stiles _ . Stiles, calm down,” Derek growls. “I’m not going to hurt your dad. I was never going to physically hurt your dad, just rough his car up a little.” He moves his hand away when Stiles pats at it.

“Then why did you even ask that, you psycho?” Stiles gasps, still reeling. “Jeez. You scared the crap out of me.”

Derek laughs, and he’s pressed so close that Stiles can feel the way he shakes with it. “I wanted to know what your answer was.”

“Why?”

“Because Mr. Lahey hurt him, but Isaac didn’t kill his father.” Derek’s words make no sense to Stiles. Their conversation hadn’t even been about Isaac, and Stiles had been so focused on his own father that he had even forgotten why Derek had originally come to the police station. Derek obviously hadn’t.

Stiles thinks back to the things they said to each other, eyes widening excitedly as the clues click together like beautiful, informative puzzle pieces. “You’re saying someone else killed Mr. Lahey to protect Isaac?”

Derek touches Stiles’ lower lip with his thumb. “I didn’t say anything. You did.”

The touch distracts Stiles for all of a moment, but the inner detective in him is insistent. “Who did it?”

Derek steps back from him then. “I’ll leave your dad alone if he lets Isaac go. But I can’t promise anything for the rest of the Wolves. When someone messes with our pack, they usually tend to retaliate.”

“My dad is just doing his job.” But Derek ignores him, reaching for the door and forcing Stiles to move quickly out of the way of Derek’s exit.

____________________

 

“You let Isaac go today,” Stiles says over dinner that night. He tries to keep his voice nonchalant but the look his dad gives him says he was unsuccessful.

“I did,” his dad says, giving his salad an unhappy look before pouring more ranch on it. Stiles bites his tongue only because he wants to keep his dad in a talking mood. “He confirmed his alibi for the night of the murder, so we’re left without any leads again.”

“Why was he a suspect in the first place?” Stiles remembers watching Isaac walk out of the interrogation room, refusing to meet anyone's eyes as he made a beeline for Erica’s open arms. Isaac seemed too fragile for murder.

His dad takes his time chewing before he replies. “A couple of Isaac’s teachers and friends reached out to the police multiple times because they suspected his father was abusing him. But each time Isaac was questioned about it he kept silent, so charges were never pressed.”

“But then why would you want to reopen the case?” Stiles asks. “Why go through all the trouble for someone who beat their own kid?” He winces at his own words when his dad sends him an incredulous look, and finds himself wishing once again that he had a larger filter between his brain and his mouth.

“Because a man was murdered and his killer hasn’t been punished yet, Stiles.”

“I know,” Stiles frowns. “But you should at least leave Isaac out of it since you know it wasn’t him.”

“I don’t remember asking you how to do my job,” his dad says, but he’s smiling so Stiles knows he isn’t upset anymore. “But I will. It was Argent’s idea to bring him in anyway, and she went about it without coming to me first. I’m going to have to have a conversation with her about that tomorrow.”

“I don’t like her,” Stiles says.

His dad sighs, a long weary sound. “I don’t either.”  
  


____________________

Saturday morning, Stiles decides that he has had a stressful enough week to deserve a night to unwind, and that definitely doesn’t mean sitting in front of the tv watching a game with a beer in hand like his dad intends to do. He pulls up a quick google search on his phone and is pleasantly surprised to find a gay club not fifteen minutes outside of Beacon Hills called Jungle. The name alone makes him want to go check it out.

His dad doesn’t even look away from the TV when Stiles opens the front door, already too engrossed with the pregame activities taking place on the screen. Stiles doesn’t blame him, everyone needs different ways to shut off their brain for awhile. Stiles’ solution just happened to involve less television and more sweaty bodies.

“I’m heading out.” This gets his dads attention, his brief glance over at Stiles turning into a double take when he takes in what Stiles is wearing. Stiles knows his dad can probably guess where he’s going just based on his outfit. He’s ditched his usual plaid shirt and baggy jeans for a red sleeveless hoodie that shows off biceps he’s been working very hard on all year, tight dark jeans, and a pair of newer converse. Everything about the outfit screams  _ I want to be looked at. _

“Out,” his dad repeats, giving him another once over before abruptly turning back to the television. “Well just be smart about whatever you’re about to get into.”

Stiles laughs, grabbing his keys with one hand and opening the front door with the other. “I’ll do my best.”

The club is packed by the time Stiles gets there, which even furthers his excitement. He could hear the music from his parking spot halfway down the block, and the line leading out the entrance is full of beautiful potential dance partners. Although seeing them standing there means he’s in for a wait before he can actually try dancing with anyone. He’s heading to the back of the line when the bouncer reaches out and grabs his arm.

“What,” he asks, surprised. He hasn’t done anything worth getting in trouble this early on in the night.

“Go on in.”

“Me?” Stiles blinks. “Are you sure?” He raises his eyebrows when the bouncer eyes him up and down before nodding. “Well okay then.”

Stiles struts in, confidence boosted right up until he notices how many attractive men have apparently decided to come out tonight. He swallows hard when a man in leather shorts and fishnets winks at him and makes a beeline for the bar, deciding he needs to work up his courage before he tries dancing with anyone.

The bartender is busy so Stiles entertains himself with people watching while he waits his turn. The club is gorgeous, with sleek black furniture on the balcony overlooking the flashing dance floor and soft blue lighting surrounding the bar.  Looking at the people, Stiles feels both over and under-dressed, considering that half of the people are hardly wearing anything and the other half are wearing clothes that cost more than his jeep.The people watching continues after he gets his first drink, but once he finishes he knows it's time to get out into the crowd.

Dancing has always come easy to him. He’s never been the type to be self conscious, and being in a state of constant movement is normal for him. He finds his space and his rhythm, letting the beat and the flash of multicolored neon lights from above guide him.

Even though he never actively looks for one, he’s never short of dance partners. A person dressed in drag makes him laugh as they move for fun above all else; a man with a sweet face and shy smile keeps a respectable distance has a slower song plays around him; a lanky man moves out of beat against him, clearly eager for another physical activity besides dancing that involves two.

It isn’t until after the third one has left that Stiles thinks maybe he came here looking for something in particular after all, something Stiles hasn’t found yet to his disappointment. His eyes are set on the bar when a pair of hands come from behind to rest on his hips in a silent question. He decides one more dance couldn’t hurt, placing his hands over the strangers and pulling them around his waist.

A body comes along with the hands, sliding up against him back to chest, and it’s  _ perfect _ . The body behind him is just the right size for Stiles to easily slip into his fantasy that it’s Derek moving in sync with him.

A sharp exhale from the man behind after a particularly overeager backwards grind from Stiles cools the sweat on his neck. A grin finds its way on his lips, and there's a dangerous temptation curling in his gut, one that energizes him as they continue their dance. Stiles gives into it as he closes his eyes and just allows himself to feel.

The music becomes a second pulse under his skin and his breathing syncs with the lights flashing bright even through his eyelids. It’s everything he came looking for tonight. He takes in a deep breath, catching the scent of sweat and leather coming from the stranger behind him. 

Well, almost everything.

Because the person dancing with him isn’t the one he’s thinking of. Shame washes through him and bleeds out any of the lasting adrenaline in his system. He’s not sure if he feels more guilty toward Derek or the man behind him.

He turns, determined to makeup for his stray thoughts by giving his dance partner proper attention. He doesn’t put space between them as he turns, doesn’t want to, so when he finally opens his eyes, there’s only a fraction of space between them. Hazel eyes lock onto his.

Derek’s hazel eyes.

The shame spirals into embarrassment as he remembers the absolutely filthy way he had been grinding back against Derek just two seconds before.  Sure, he had wanted it to be Derek, but if he had known it actually was him, he would have maybe tried not to seem so desperate for the D.

He can’t hear Derek over the music but can clearly see his lips form the word Batman around a smirk. Stiles asks a series of questions-a what, how, and why-each slipping out of his mouth before his brain can fully process the one before. But Derek only stares back at him blankly.

No longer in a dancing mood, Stiles grabs Derek by the sleeve and pulls him off the floor. He pauses near the bar, looking around, but he can’t find anywhere that might give them reprieve from the music around them. Derek must sense his reason for hesitation because he grabs Stiles’ hand and leads them both around the bar, toward a door Stiles hadn’t noticed before.

The door takes them outside, into an alley. It had still been daylight when Stiles walked into the club earlier, but now the moon sits high in the sky with stars shining around it. The air around them trades its scent from sweat and liquor for the stench of the dumpster sitting beside the exit to the club. 

“Imagine my surprise upon finding out the Sheriff’s son could dance like that,” Derek says, breaking the silence. He’s leaning with one knee bent so his foot and back are pressed against the brick wall of the club, arms crossed over his chest like he owns the place.

Stiles gives him an incredulous look. “What are you even doing here?”

“I own the place,” Derek says, then sighs a little at Stiles’ blank stare. “The club. It’s mine.”

Oh.  _ Oh. _ Derek owns a  _ gay _ club. Derek danced with Stiles at a  _ gay _ club. Stiles had felt something definitely thicker than a pen against his back when they were dancing. Stiles allows his brain to piece the clues together, evidence linking together to solve the case of Derek Hale’s sexuality. Stiles didn’t have enough evidence to pen it down just yet, but he didn’t need to. He knew Derek liked men and that was enough for him. But still…

“Why would you dance with me?”

Derek’s confidence deflates into confusion. “Why would  _ you _ dance with  _ me _ ?”

“Because,” Stiles draws out the vowels, annoyed at having his question repeated. “I didn’t know it was you.”

“You didn’t?”

“How would I? You were behind me.”

“Yeah, but I asked if you wanted to dance,” Derek frowns at him. “And then you grabbed my hands and started moving.” 

“But the music- Derek, I couldn’t hear you.” 

Derek’s face darkens. There’s shame in the downward tilt of his chin and embarrassment in the way he won’t meet Stiles’ eyes.  It’s a look that Stiles doesn’t like seeing on Derek at all. 

“Right,” he says in one sharp syllable, turning back toward the club. 

“Wait!” Stiles grabs his arm. This whole situation is concerning and he has so many questions, but neither of those things compare to the rush of the dance earlier. And, really, he had only promised that he’d try to be smart tonight. “Let’s go to my jeep.”

_____________

Less than twenty minutes later, Derek’s face is still blush red but it’s now paired with an expression that Stiles is quickly growing fond of. His back seat isn’t exactly made for this type of activity, even with the two of them lying on top of each other. The position had been Stiles’ idea, to help them save space of course.

Stiles’ arms are shaking on either side of Derek’s head as they continue to try to hold his body weight, and he’s pretty sure a couple of Derek’s moans have been from discomfort when Stiles’ accidentally shifted his knee into the delicate flesh of Derek’s inner thigh. They’re both too busy kissing to complain. Derek’s mouth is hot, his tongue spreading the warmth into Stiles with addictive swipes. Stiles’ arms give out the moment after Derek nips at his lower lip and he drops down, letting Derek take his weight. 

Derek accepts the new position with growl, pushing his thigh in between Stiles’ legs. Stiles rocks against Derek’s leg eagerly, moving his hands into Derek’s hair, scratching his scalp and making a mess of Derek’s perfectly gelled hair. It’s wonderful until it’s torture. Stiles’ jeans feel tighter than ever, the fabric practically crushing Stiles’ dick against his thigh. Grinding against Derek sends sparks of pleasure through him that help distract from the discomfort, but it’s still not enough. He needs something more, he needs-

“Take your pants off,” Derek breathes into his mouth. 

“You’re a genius,” Stiles says, pulling away just enough to get his hand in between their bodies. “You too,” he adds, unbuttoning and unzipping his pants with practiced ease, needing only his index finger and thumb to do so. Derek complies, and in the days that follow, Stiles will regret his over-eagerness to press back against Derek, because he doesn’t give himself much of a chance to actually look and take in all that Derek is putting up for show. 

But in that moment, kissing Derek, pressed up against every inch of him, with a hand each holding their dicks together, Stiles can’t find it in himself to care about anything else. Derek controls the kiss, biting and licking at Stiles while Stiles controls the pace of their hands. 

It’s over in minutes, with Derek turning into the seat to conceal the noises he makes and Stiles biting down on the newly exposed flesh of Derek’s neck to stifle his own. Stiles expects that to be it. The attractiveness of a hookup with someone who is practically a stranger usually ends for him in awkward silences and painfully polite goodbyes. 

But then Derek licks a stripe up Stiles’ cheek and whispers, “Come back to my place,” in such a sweet voice that Stiles can’t find it in himself to refuse. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! I have my fingers crossed that my schedule will clear after the holidays so I can start working on this more frequently. I know these long pauses between chapters are no fun D:

Stiles is already awake when Derek’s snores cut off next to him, right before he starts to slowly shift. Stiles keeps his eyes closed and breathes even, imagining the new aches and pains Derek is discovering as he stretches out. Last night had been everything Stiles had expected it to be, and so much more. It makes the idea of facing Derek to say an awkward goodbye infinitely more terrifying. So, like a coward, he continues pretending that he’s asleep. 

Derek’s stare stays on him for a long time. Long enough that Stiles starts to get restless. He can’t help the tiny twitches that start to happen in his hands, legs and face, but he hopes he’s breathing evenly enough to continue to fool Derek. Luckily Derek doesn’t call Stiles’ bluff. His breathing becomes steadier, deeper and the weight of his stare disappears. 

It doesn’t take Stiles long at all to realize that Derek is now faking sleep as well. They’re both lying next to each other awake, too cowardly to face the morning. It’s so pathetic Stiles nearly laughs aloud, but then that would ruin the whole thing. Still, he knows his bladder won’t continue to let him play this game much longer. He gives up the act, with an exaggerated yawn and full body stretch, allowing Derek about thirty seconds to respond before he gets out of bed, and can’t really place why he feels disappointed when Derek doesn’t move. 

It doesn’t take him long at all to find his clothes, hastily discarded from the night before, simply because of how bare the upstairs of Derek’s loft is. He hadn’t noticed before, too distracted in their hurry to get to the bed, but Derek had nothing but the bare necessities in his loft. No decorations of any type, not even pictures of family or friends. It makes Stiles pay closer attention to the rest of Derek’s loft as he dresses. 

His shirt and boxers are on the floor next to Derek’s bed. He throws them on before heading downstairs, finding one sock on the railing and the other on the last step as he makes his way down. The rest of Derek’s loft is slightly less empty, but not by much. His pants are lying in front of a wall covered completely by three bookshelves. 

Nothing Stiles knows about Derek would imply that he was much of a reader, but then again Stiles doesn’t really know much about Derek. They hadn’t exactly spent last night getting to know each other, in fact they had barely talked much at all. It was just as well, Stiles decides as he grabs his keys and leaves Derek’s loft. Now that they had taken care of their ill-placed sexual attraction to each other, they could continue on their very seperate paths. 

 

_______________

 

He spots the car, a black sedan, parked about three buildings away almost immediately when he steps outside. To most people, the car parked midway between two businesses wouldn’t have brought cause for concern, but to Stiles- a man who was raised by a cop, who spent his childhood watching too many crime shows, who in recent months has learned how easily someone he thought he knew could hide their true colors- the car sticks out like a beacon of suspicion. The windows are tinted so Stiles can’t tell if there’s someone in the car or not. Since he has no plans of getting close enough to check, he slides into his jeep, pulls up his gps to start his route home, and drives off without hesitation. 

The car catches up to him three stop lights later. He can see the shadow of a person-a man- through his rearview window. That sight alone makes his heart pulse rapidly out of rhythm and he spends the rest of the time waiting for the light switching between staring frantically at the light, willing it to turn green and staring frantically at the car behind him, willing it to be just some strange sort of coincidence. 

His next turn is a left, and the black sedan turns with him. A right turn three streets later and the car stays on his tail. “Oh shit, oh shit,  _ oh shit. _ ” He regrets not bringing his baseball bat with him when he left the house last night. Next time, he’ll bring it with him next time. For now, if he needs a weapon, the ice scraper will have to do.

His gps freaks out when he suddenly pulls into the first gas station he sees on his way home, the automated male voice demanding him to take a U-turn at the next opportunity. If he is being followed he doesn’t plan on leading him back to his dad’s house, but the car continues straight instead of pulling in after him and Stiles nearly swerves straight into a gas pump when he sags back against his seat in relief.

“Make a U-Turn.” 

“Quiet Alfred,” he says as he picks a parking spot toward the back of the gas station. Now that he isn’t being followed, likely never was being followed, he feels a both relieved and foolish and needs a few moments to calm down before he can drive again. Alfred only gets halfway through another monotone command before his voice abruptly shuts off when Stiles exits the app.

There’s only one other car in the area Stiles chose, a sleek tiny silver porsche that probably costs more than his tuition even though it’s not half the size of Stiles’ jeep. Leaning against the car is a man sneering down at his phone as he texts. It’s hard to tell if he’s irritated about whatever he’s texting or the angry, beautiful woman in front of him. 

“Jackson, we can’t just leave it here,” she’s saying as Stiles walks past them on his way inside. 

“Well it’s not getting in my car either,” the man-Jackson-snaps back at her, but Stiles is inside the gas station before he hears her reply and his search for grub through the shelves places the couple in the back of his mind. 

Stiles walks through the aisles, picking up various things that catch his eye as he goes. He’d originally planned on getting just water, parched after last night's activities, but by now his usual morning hunger is making his mouth water at all the snack options. 

The cashier is less than friendly with Stiles and his assortment of snacks, shoving each item in the bag like they have personally offended her. At first, Stiles can’t figure out what her deal is, then he catches his reflection in the mirrors on the side of the sunglasses rack on the counter. His neck is decorated in hickeys large and small, light and dark. As he stares in mute horror at the marks, he sees the skin underneath them turn a brilliant shade of pink. He hastily pays, avoiding both eye contact with the cashier and the strange urge to apologize.

The couple is still arguing at their car when Stiles approaches, expect now there’s a huge dog standing with them, and Stiles can’t really help it if his curiosity takes over by this point. 

“It’s not going to fit babe, unless you want me to strap you to the roof.” Jackson grins like the idea amuses him.

“ _ Excuse you _ -”

“Hey,” Stiles interrupts with an awkward little wave, because the woman is flipping her strawberry-blonde hair and Stiles knows that’s usually a prelude to someone getting slapped. “Is everything alright?”

“Yes. Mind your own business,” Jackson says. 

“No it’s not,” the woman says, giving Jackson a sharp look before turning to Stiles. “We found this dog abandoned here. She’s sick. We know a vet, but they can’t leave work to come here and she won’t fit in the porsche.”

_ Definitely not _ , Stiles thinks, looking into the car. The seats are barely big enough to hold two grown people. Let alone the humongous grey dog standing beside it. His jeep however…

He doesn’t have to lean down very far at all to pat the dog’s head. She flinches at the initial touch but before he can pull back she leans into him almost desperately. “Hey pretty girl.” There’s a white film over her eyes and ridges from scars along the top of her head. He swallows thickly and says, “I could take her in my jeep.”

The woman makes a sudden, high pitched noise and throws her arms around him. Stiles, ever graceless, flails and manages to lightly touch somewhere around her mid back before she’s pulling away from him. 

“You’re amazing- _ who are you _ -thank you,” the woman says. 

“Stiles,” Stiles says, expecting it when Jackson snorts. 

“I’m Lydia,” Lydia says. “This is Jackson.” She doesn’t clarify who Jackson is to her, which Stiles finds interesting. Maybe Stiles was wrong about their relationship as a couple and Jackson is just her friend. As if Jackson can read Stiles’ train of thought, he straightens and shifts closer to Lydia. A very protective friend. 

“Do you have an address I can put in my gps,” Stiles says before he does something else to attract Jackson’s ire. He barely has his phone out of his pocket when Lydia snatches it from his hands. 

“I’ll put it in for you, along with my number. That way you can text me if you have any problems finding it,” she says. When she hands his phone back to him, her eyes flicker briefly down to his neck. “I’m also giving you my spare foundation.”

Stiles grimaces, his hand flying up to his neck as he watches her dig through her purse. “You don’t really have to-”

“Yeah she does. Your neck is a mess.” Jackson smirks. “Must of been a wild girl, huh?”

“It was a guy actually,” Stiles says with a half-shrug. “But you could definitely call him wild.”

He takes a little pleasure in the way Jackson’s widen with surprise, but other than that neither of them react to the news much, in fact Lydia doesn’t react at all. She just grabs Stiles’ wrist and twists so his hand is facing palm up and drops the tube of foundation into his hand. 

“Make sure to blend, and text me when you make it,” she says. 

“Will do. Come on girl,” he says, giving the dog’s collar a gentle tug. 

There aren’t any tags on the collar, so Stiles doesn’t have anything else to call her. He has to help her into the jeep, lifting each leg and guiding her into the backseat.  She starts whining immediately when the jeep starts to move and only stops after Stiles starts cooing reassurances at her and she uses his voice to move closer, resting her head on his shoulder and drooling all over his shirt for the remainder of the drive. 

 

_______________

 

The vet is out running errands when Stiles gets there but his assistant, Scott McCall, known member of the Wolf Pack, is standing behind the counter when Stiles walks in. Stiles sees him behind the counter before Scott sees him. Stiles recognizes him instantly, even in green scrubs instead of the leather jacket he’s wearing in the copied driver's license picture the police have in his file, which he can see hanging up on a rack behind Scott. 

In a brief moment of panic, he considers backing out of the clinic, but the dog with him starts sniffing around and whining at all the strange new smells before the thought fully forms. The noise gets Scott’s attention, and he looks up from the computer he was working on. 

His eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets when he spots Stiles right before his face goes carefully blank. It’s enough of a reaction that Stiles knows Scott knows who he is already. He’s not surprised the pack keeps informed on any information they can find on his dad, although it still makes him nervous wondering what they might be planning to do with that knowledge. He wonders if Derek was the one to tell the pack about him, and the thought causes an unpleasant sensation in his stomach. 

“Hey,” Scott says, giving him a hesitant smile. “Are you here for a check up for your dog or…?”

“No she’s not mine,” Stiles says, not returning the smile. “I picked her up at a gas station. Lydia and Jackson found her and told me to bring her here. You know them right?”

“Yeah, they’re friends of the-friends of mine,” Scott says. Friends of the pack, he had almost said, Stiles is sure of it. 

So Lydia and Jackson are involved with the pack as well. Stiles chews his bottom lip nervously as Scott comes over to them and crouches down in front of the dog. Could all of this been a ploy by the pack somehow to get Stiles to a more secure location to murder him to send a message to his dad? Could Derek have lured him to his place to give his friends time to work out a way to get rid of him? Were Lydia, Jackson, and this dog have been waiting for him at the gas station? But that wouldn’t make sense because how would they have known that he’d-

Scott’s horrified voice cuts him off. “Oh my gosh, what happened to her?” He turns his big, sad brown eyes to Stiles and Stiles feels his panic and distrust thaw a little. 

“I have no idea. I think she’s been abused.”

“Has been for awhile it looks like,” Scott says, pressing his forehead against hers. It makes her tail wag and she licks at his face. “She’s malnourished, there’s scarring everywhere, and she has little to no vision in both eyes. Man, if I could meet the person who did this to her, it’d be like,” he shakes his head, “Well I wouldn’t kill them obviously but I’d totally hit them. Like, as hard as Rattlesnake’s finishing move in Immortal Deathmatch. You probably don’t know what I’m talking about.”

“Uh of course I do,” Stiles says. “The move where he does a triple backflip and smashes into his opponent with the full force of his Venom Fist? I’d wanna kick him as hard as Frostbite’s Winter Kick finishing move.”

Scott’s eyes glitter. “ _ Dude,”  _ he says, and in that moment, lost in the excitement of having a new bro Stiles forgets his caution. When he leaves the clinic not too long after, he has another new contact in his phone, along with Scott’s online gaming info. 

 

_______________

 

In the week that follows, every morning he wakes up to rose petals sprinkled over the front windshield and hood of his jeep. He’s lucky enough to find them before his dad on Monday on his way out to to check the mail and scrubs them off while trying not to throw up. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday he makes sure to get up before his dad so he can clear away the evidence but he doesn’t see any sign of the person leaving them there. Until Friday.

On Friday he stays up all night playing video games online with Scott until the sun starts to rise, and then he moves into the living room, sitting on the couch and staring out the window into the driveway until he sees a black sedan pull up on the curb across the street. He recognizes it as the same black sedan that followed him when he left Derek’s over the weekend. When his ex-boyfriend steps out of it with a zip lock baggie in his hand, he’s infuriated and sickened, but not surprised. 

It’s been six weeks since Stiles ended their two month relationship after Matt had gotten creepily attached. They’d met in one of Stiles’ elective classes and hit it off, but it didn’t take long for Matt’s true possessive nature to come out. He’d tried to insert and take over almost every aspect of Stiles and had been jealous of Stiles spending time with his friends or when he was trying to study. When that possessiveness turned into aggression, Stiles was quick to end things. Matt hadn’t taken it very well and Stiles had been forced to get a restraining order to get him to back off. At the time, he’d thought that since Matt graduated last semester and should have moved back home by the time Stiles would return for his junior year of college, but apparently he’d been wrong. 

By the time Stiles has his bat in his hand and is marching out to meet Matt he’s already made it in the driveway. Maybe it’s the furious expression on Stiles’ face that promises violence, or maybe it’s the baseball bat in his hand that promises pain, but Matt takes one look at Stiles and doubles back toward his own car. He barely makes it back in the car before Stiles catches up to him. 

In his rage, Stiles doesn’t think before lifting the bat high in the air and swinging it down once to put a dent in the hood and another time to smash the headlight. Matt sends him one last panicked look and then Stiles has to leap away to avoid getting hit by his car speeding away. 

“Stay the hell away from me!” He watches the car the speed off wishing he could have a chance to use the bat against Matt. Then, standing there in the middle of the road at sunrise, Stiles has a quiet panic attack. 

He is being stalked. A gasp. Matt knows about the restraining order and it isn’t stopping him. Matt somehow found out where he lives-where  _ his dad _ lives. Little black spots appear in his vision. He’s scared, bone deep terrified and he doesn’t know what to do. Another gasp, this time it comes through easily enough that a shaky exhale follows it and he focuses enough to start making his way toward the house. He knows he needs to tell his dad. He deserves to know and maybe he’ll have a better idea what to do. 

He expects to have to go in and wake his dad up, but instead he nearly runs into his dad on his way out, already fully dressed in his work uniform. 

“Dad,” he says, a little breathlessly. “I need to-”

“Stiles buddy, you’re going to have to drive yourself to work today. Parrish just called and told me Argent is trying to run a briefing behind my back  _ again _ .” He stops then. frowning at Stiles. “Wait a second, what were you doing outside this early?” 

“I umm..” Stiles knows Kate Argent has been a consistently growing thorn in his dad’s side since she first started working on her case against the Wolves. Even now, his dad has that wild sleepless look he gets in his eyes when he’s been spending too much energy at work. “I was just grabbing the mail.”

“This early?” His dad shakes his head and gives a little laugh. “Go back to bed and get some rest before your shift starts, son.”

Stiles forces himself to smile back. “Sure thing.”

 

_______________

  
  


Stiles tries to stay awake until it’s time to leave for his shift, sitting in the chair in the living room that gives him the best view of the driveway, but when he jerks awake to the sound of the alarm going off on his phone, he knows he failed. 

He goes through the motions of getting dressed and showering like a zombie, catching himself nodding off both under the relaxing hot stream of water and in the middle of putting his socks on. By the time he makes it out to his jeep he’s already running late, and when his jeep doesn’t start, he knows he won’t be making it into work that day. 

“Not my baby,” he groans, slamming his head back against the seat. 

He gets out of the jeep and pops the hood, finding a photograph turned face down sitting in the empty space where his battery should be. The word  _ Whore  _ is written sloppily on the side facing him. He picks it up with trembling fingers, flipping it to find him and Derek as the star subjects of the photo. It looks like it was taken through the window of a car parked a few spaces down from where Stiles and Derek where making out against Derek’s black camaro. It had been taken after they got out of Stiles’ jeep and just before Stiles had followed Derek home. Both of their pants are unbuttoned. 

He crushes the photo in his fist as his other hand digs into his pocket. His dad answers on the sixth ring, sounding as exhausted and tired as Stiles feels. 

“Stiles? You were supposed to be here half an hour ago. Everything alright?”

“Yeah, I’m not going to be making it in today.” Stiles sighs. “Car trouble. Going to have to get it towed to a shop.” He could technically call an uber to bring him a battery, but he wants to have it looked at professionally in case Matt messed with anything else.  

“Might be time to get rid of that thing,” his dad jokes, and despite himself, Stiles can’t control his gasp of horror. “Do you need me to do anything to help?” 

“No,” Stiles says. “But, do you think we can talk when you get home?”

“It might have to wait until tomorrow. It’s looking like I’ll be crashing on the couch in the office tonight.”

Stiles tries to keep the disappointment out of his voice when he guesses, “Argent?”

“Argent,” his dad scoffs. “Woman is willing to do anything to bring down the Wolves.”

“Isn’t that a good thing?”

“Not if it isn’t by the books,” his dad says firmly. “She was planning on blackmailing one of the newer members into being an informant for us.”

Stiles perks up. “Which member?”

There’s a heavy pause on the other line before his dad says, “Call the tow, Stiles.” 

“You never tell me the good stuff,” Stiles groans. 

His dad laughs. “Graduate and get into the FBI. Then you’ll be the one holding the ‘good stuff’ from me.”   
  
  


_______________

Stiles is already under the assumption that his day couldn’t possibly get any worse when he discovers that Isaac Lahey is the one driving the tow truck. Isaac seems to be just as surprised as Stiles is to see him. 

“You’re Stilinski’s son,” he says with wide eyes. “You were there when they brought me in for questioning.”

“Yeah. I’m sorry about your dad,” he says, then grimaces. If what Derek hinted at back at the police station was true, then Isaac himself probably wasn’t even sorry about Mr. Lahey’s death.

Isaac doesn’t call him out on his awkwardness or lack of tack, but his smile is forced and his voice is clipped when he says, “Thank you.” 

Isaac doesn’t speak much after that other than to tell Stiles he’ll need to ride with Isaac to Beacon Hill’s auto shop since they’ll need him to sign a few things and list his contact information to be able to start working on his car. Stiles gets in the passenger seat without argument, figuring he’ll be able to call an uber on his way back. 

Being the talkative person that he is, Stiles can’t help but start up random conversations during the ride there. And, being the type of person that he is, Stiles only makes it a few miles into the drive before asking the real question that’s on his mind.

“So how’d you get involved with the Wolf gang?” He lets a little laugh and says, “ _ Wolfgang. _ Get it?”

“Mozart,” Isaac nods, lips quirking. “But it’s more like a club than a gang. Calling ourselves a gang would imply that we participate in illegal activities, and we don’t want to give the wrong type of impression.” 

“Oh right. Of course not,” Stiles says a bit sarcastically, because both Isaac and Stiles know that that’s bullshit. He sees Isaac’s grin sharpen out of the corner of his eye. “So how’d you get involved with the  _ club _ , then?”

Isaac drives about half a mile without answering Stiles, giving a long enough pause that Stiles assumes he overstepped and is going to be ignored. Then Isaac says, “Derek used to let me stay with him whenever things got bad with my dad. And, then he let me live with him after my dad died, until I could get a place of my own. I figured working for his family’s club when Peter came back into town was a good way to begin to pay back that debt.”

Stiles frowns. “Did Derek hold him helping you out over your head?” 

Isaac laughs, a soft little laugh that matches the quiet way he tends to speak. “No, he’d never. It was Peter’s idea actually. I told him I wanted to find a way to help Derek the way he helped me, and Peter offered me a spot working for the various businesses the Hale family owns.”

“Like the club?” 

“Yeah, and the car shop we’re going to.” 

Stiles jerks in shock, ramming his elbow painfully against the truck’s door. “Wait, you’re taking me to a Hale car shop?”

“Well yeah. You said to take you to the closest shop,” Isaac says. “Hey, Derek might even be there today.”

“Oh no,” Stiles groans. He doesn’t have any energy left in him after this morning to handle an encounter with Derek Hale. “Can you take-”

“We’re here!” Isaac pulls the tow truck in a wide turn into the parking lot of a car shop before Stiles can finish his protest. “And look! Derek is here too. He’s over there on his bike next to his little sister Cora. She runs the place.”

Stiles has already spotted Derek when Isaac lifts a hand off the wheel to point, and can’t help the nervous excitement he feels while looking at him. He looks good, somehow better than Stiles remembers,  straddling his bike so casually. Derek doesn’t notice or pay attention to Isaac’s truck pulling in at first, instead his attention stays on who Stiles assumes to be Cora and whatever she’s saying that has her talking so animated. 

As Stiles watches, he absentmindedly rubs his leather gloved hand up and down his jean clad thigh. Something about the motion sets Stiles on fire, blood and heat thrumming through his veins, and that’s when Derek’s head turns in his direction. 

Beside him, Isaac snorts. “I’m sure he’ll take you home if you ask nicely.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank GOODNESS the holiday craze is over!   
> I'm think I'm finally at a point where I can try to updates every other Friday instead of monthly like before :D
> 
> Thanks everyone who has been patient with this story so far, I hope you like the new chapter <3

Cora stares him down the whole time he’s filling out paperwork for her. It makes him nervous and twitchy, but the one and only time he starts to make some sort of sarcastic comment about it, her cool glare stops him dead. Luckily Derek chose to stay outside next to his and Cora’s bikes instead of coming into the office with them. Stiles doubts he could handle dealing with Derek,and his apparent ever-growing, ill-placed lust for him, on top of Cora’s anger.

Cora snatches the papers from him as soon as he finishes dotting the I on his last name. She looks it over briefly, before sitting the clipboard on her desk. Then she resumes her previous position leaning against the desk with her arms crossed, staring at Stiles.

Stiles only makes it a few seconds before opening his mouth. “Alright, well thanks for looking after the baby. I’ll just-”

“You spent the night at Derek’s last weekend.” 

Stiles opens his mouth and closes it repeatedly before he finds his words. “I don’t think who someone is sleeping with should be something siblings know about each other.”

“I never said I knew about you two sleeping together,” Cora says, smiling viciously when Stiles winces. Her smile fades quickly when Stiles tries to stutter his way through excuses and she rolls her eyes at him, raising a hand to silence him.

“Relax Casanova, I’m not here to judge,” she says. “Just stating facts. I’ve heard plenty of interesting things about the new Sheriff’s son in your short time in town.” 

“Oh yeah?” Stiles regains his composure as much as he can now that he knows Cora isn’t aimed to attack at this very moment. He crosses his own arms to mirror her posture. “And I take it you’ve formed some sort of opinion on me based on those facts?”

“I’d rather form my own opinions about you in time. I have a feeling I’ll be seeing you around often enough.” 

Stiles frowns. He certainly doesn’t plan on hanging around a car shop after his jeep is fixed, especially not one manned by Wolves. Cora continues without giving Stiles a chance to question her. 

“You’re lucky you know. Normally people who work with the cops that are dumb enough to get their cars worked on here end up being pretty unhappy with the service. However, Isaac went on and on about how kind Sheriff Stilinski was at the station,” Cora lifts her index finger up, adding her middle finger along next to it as she keeps listing off things, “Scott goes on and on about what a cool dude you are, Lydia, my girlfriend, says you’re a sweetheart, and it seems that Derek likes you enough to think you’re worthy of at least one more fuck, so I’m going to do you a favor just this once. Remember it. None of their opinions will matter if Peter decides he doesn’t like you.” She wiggles the three fingers she has in the air at him before turning away in a clear dismissal. 

“Glad to have left a good impression,” Stiles mutters, turning toward the door.   
______

Stiles plans on walking right past Derek out of the parking lot and finding somewhere he can wait after he calls an Uber, but Derek and his bike are both sitting right in front of the exit to the car shop, leaving no path for Stiles to leave without going around him. It takes Stiles only moments to accept his fate, this is either going to be awkward or _really_ awkward, so Stiles figures he might as well get it over with. 

The walk to Derek isn’t long enough for Stiles to come up with something good to say in greeting, or maybe it’s just that there isn’t something good to say to someone who, after having sex with them multiple times one night, then ditches out on them without a word the next morning, so when he reaches Derek he just settles for a little wave and a lame, “Hey.”

“Hey,” Derek says, nonchalantly. “Heard you need a ride.”

“Yeah if you’re okay with that,” Stiles says, also nonchalantly. 

“Sure, as long as you’re okay with us getting food on the way,” Derek says, and Stiles stomach growls its agreement. 

Derek pats the area on the seat behind him, his gloves drawing Stiles attention again and tempting him to slide on the bike behind Derek without hesitation. There isn’t enough room to keep a polite distance between their bodies. In fact Stiles feels quite rude in the way he’s pressed flush against Derek’s back.

“I’ve never been on a motorcycle before,” he tells Derek, holding his hands up awkwardly in the air. 

“Somehow I’m not surprised,” Derek says dryly. “Here.” He reaches back to grab Stiles’ wrists, pulling his arms forward and guiding them around his waist and leaving them there as he reaches back for handles. 

The motorcycle roars to life, startling Stiles even though he had been expecting it, and he clings to Derek’s jacket on instinct as the vibrations from the engine flow through him. Derek doesn’t waste any time checking to see if Stiles is ready, twisting the gas and setting forward with enough speed that Stiles might have fallen off, if not for his tight grip on Derek. 

The warm early afternoon breeze ruffles both of their hair, and sends the scent of leather and oil from Derek and his bike right at Stiles. The combination of the smells, along with his proximity to Derek, and the endless vibrations gently shaking their bodies together is intoxicating. Stiles is hard in his pants by the time Derek slows to a stop at the first traffic light they come to, and he tries to sneakily shift back away from Derek to hide it from him. 

He knows instantly when Derek notices by the way his shoulders shake with laughter. He doesn’t comment on it, but he does shift his hips back into Stiles. Stiles takes that as permission to enjoy the firm press of Derek against him for the rest of the ride, even if he knows it’ll only tease him.

They pull into the parking lot of a small diner not even ten minutes from the car shop, and find a booth in the far right corner from the door. Derek laughs at him again as he tries to adjust his pants before he sits, but stops when Stiles pointedly looks down at Derek’s own pants. 

Since it’s a Monday afternoon, there are only three other customers in the diner besides the two of them. Because of this, the waitress shows up almost immediately after they take their seats. From his seat, Stiles can see the absolute glee as she notices the design of a wolf with his head thrown back to howl at the moon stitched into the back of the leather jacket Derek is wearing. 

She introduces herself with faux composure, but that confidence quickly falls away to stutters when Derek turns a charming smile toward her as he orders a water with lemon. Stiles doesn’t blame her, Derek has a very nice smile, but he can’t help but think about how obviously forced it is and that makes him wonder what Derek might look like with a genuine smile. Not wanting to be outdone by Derek, Stiles flashes a smirk of his own at the waitress when he orders his drink, and watches as blood fills her cheeks.

“Aren’t you going to take your sunglasses off?” Stiles asks, after she leaves to get their drinks. “You’re embarrassing me, dude.”

“Sorry,  _ dude _ ,” Derek says, a bit sarcastically. He does reach up to pull the sunglasses off and hook them in his shirt. After the glasses are secure in his collar he looks up at Stiles through his lashes.  “Happy now?”

The waitress comes back with their drinks then, saving Stiles from embarrassing himself by answering an affirmative much too enthusiastically. Maybe it’s the bright summer sun shining in through the diner’s windows enhancing the hazel of Derek’s eyes, or maybe it’s just the way Derek’s eyes are twinkling with poorly concealed amusement that enraptures Stiles. Either way he can’t look away from Derek even to order his food, but Derek isn’t looking away from Stiles either. 

He stares at Stiles with the same sudden intensity that Stiles feels inside, like Stiles could somehow possibly be as enthralling to him as Derek is to Stiles. Derek’s nostrils flare out as he inhales and holds it, like holding his breath somehow would help steady him. 

And when Derek orders them two orders of burgers and fries to go and asks him right there in front of the waitress if he wants to head back to his place for a bit, Stiles is pathetically quick to agree. 

  
_____

The ride to Derek’s is shorter than necessary considering how Derek speeds through traffic lights dangerously. Stiles should be angry or, frightened even, by Derek’s lack of regard for their safety. Instead, as he keeps a tight grip on the to go boxes in his lap with one hand, and a tight grip on Derek’s waist with his other arm, he feels nothing but the joyful rush of adrenaline. 

Derek’s loft is as empty as it was the first time Stiles spent the night. The few pieces of furniture Derek does have in his living room and kitchen are obviously neat and well cared for, unlike the organized mess of Stiles’ own room. Stiles finds himself drawn to the bookshelves lining Derek’s wall as he waits for Derek to put their food in the fridge. It’s as well maintained as the rest of the loft, and each shelf is stuffed full of books of varying sizes, there are even stacks of them on top at the very top, of books that hadn’t fit inside the bookshelf. 

Derek loves to read. Stiles catalogs that little bit of information for the small list of things he actually knows about Derek other than the cold, impersonal facts written in Derek’s file at the police station. It looks like he has a variety of interests too. Some of them are textbooks on history and business, others are trashy romance novels, and there’s several novels about Lycanthropes. 

He’s reaching thoughtlessly for an old dusty book titled Beastiary when Derek plasters himself against his back, pressing sharp kisses and gentle bites along the side of his neck. Stiles sighs, letting his hand drop against one of the shelves as he tilts his head to give Derek more access. Derek’s kisses leave a trail of distracting heat in their wake, but Stiles still can’t help but poke at this new information he’s learned about Derek. 

“So...Werewolves huh,” he says, grinning when Derek tenses suddenly behind him.

His lips pull away from Stiles just enough to ask a quiet, almost angry, “You _know_?”

“Well you aren’t exactly hiding it very well.” Stiles laughs when Derek’s fingers dig into his hips with a not quite painful pressure. “Woah there big guy, I’m not judging. I just didn’t expect you to have a thing for supernatural fiction is all.”

There’s a heavy silence behind him long enough for Stiles to grow worried that he stuck his foot in his mouth and teased Derek about a guilty pleasure of his. Then Derek uses his grip on Stiles’ hips to turn him around so Stiles’ back is pressed against the bookshelf.

“Supernatural...fiction,” he repeats slowly, like he’s testing the words out himself. He doesn’t seem angry, so Stiles takes it as a good sign to continue their conversation. 

“Yeah, it’s okay though. I mean, we all have a little nerd in us. Although my nerd is more toward comics. Werewolves aren’t really my thing.” He shrugs. 

Derek’s face spasms suddenly, but he leans forward into Stiles’ shoulder before Stiles can get a good read on the expression starting to form. Stiles reaches up to pat his back when Derek huffs out an unsteady breath. He had no idea Derek was so self-conscious of his reading preferences. 

“I guess I could get into some Werewolf action,” he says, his hand absentmindedly moving up from Derek’s back to the nape of his neck and playing with the curls of Derek’s hair. “I saw that one movie, Werewolf in London when I was little and I watched Twilight for a dare once.” He carefully keeps his opinion on that series to himself in case Derek is a fan. 

When Derek leans back from him, his expression has relaxed almost back to its usual setting at grumpy, except his eyebrows are less furrowed and his lips are quirking up a small amount. Even that small change makes him look closer to a normal twenty-something year old man and less like he might murder Stiles in his sleep, so Stiles assumes they’ve made some sort of progress somehow with the Werewolf subject.

“Do you have any recommendations for me to start with?” Stiles insists.

Derek considers him for a moment more before he moves suddenly, leaning down to scoop one of Stiles’ thighs in each hand and lifting him. Stiles lets out an unmanly yelp, scrambling for purchase on Derek’s shoulders as Derek moves Stiles’ legs around his waist. 

“I recommend we stop talking about Werewolves so much and go to my bedroom,” he says, playfully nipping at Stiles’ jaw. 

“ _Oh_ ,” Stiles breathes. He’d forgotten for a moment what it is Derek brought him here for, what he came here for. “Yes. Yeah, let’s do that.” He laughs when Derek does an abrupt about face and starts carrying him toward the stairs and leans down to kiss Derek to try to distract himself from how much he wants to smile suddenly. 

The kiss does its job giving his lips something else to do the whole way to Derek’s bedroom, but he can’t help giving another breathless laugh with Derek gently tosses him onto his bed. Derek dazes him with a grin before he shrugs off his jacket and slides his shirt over his shoulders. Stiles follows his lead with less grace, but equally as eager as he kicks his shoes off and unbuttons his jeans at the same time. 

Derek uses the moment that Stiles is struggling to get his shirt over his head to climb on the bed with him, fisting the cloth in his hand and pressing Stiles down on his back. Stiles goes pliant without complaint, letting Derek use his shirt to pin his arms above his head. The material is still halfway over Stiles’ face so he can’t see Derek but he can feel him, hot, heavy, and nude pressing down on top of him. 

“I wanna suck you off,” Derek says, closer to Stiles’ ear than he expected. Stiles shudders and can only make a vague whimpering noise of agreement. 

He makes no moves to take his shirt the rest of the way off even after Derek lets go of it to move down Stiles’ body. It’s partially to hide the wild, desperate expressions he knows he’s making as Derek presses kisses and bitemarks along Stiles’ stomach, hips, and thighs on his excruciatingly slow path to Stiles’ dick, and partially because Stiles is sure he’s not going to be able to last if he watches Derek go down on him.

Stiles starts to second guess his decision the moment Derek wraps a hand around the base of his dick and he feels Derek’s hot breath on the tip. Not being able to see what Derek is doing before he does it makes everything feel more intense. The first warm lick along the sensitive underside has Stiles jumping and, when Derek grows tired of licking him after three strokes and wraps his lips around the head with gentle suction, Stiles has to fight to keep his hips flat against the mattress. 

“Oh fuuuuck,” he says when Derek suddenly takes him all the way down. He loses the battle to control his hips for only a brief second but it’s enough that they give a little aborted thrust to try to get him deeper down Derek’s throat. He stills instantly when Derek makes a choked noise and grabs at his hips, but the apology dies in Stiles’ throat when Derek starts to move his hips for him, encouraging him to find a rhythm with the bobbing of Derek’s head. 

Unable to help himself against the sudden desperate need to see Derek, Stiles rips his shirt the rest of the way off, panting as he looks down and locks eyes with Derek. The sight of him, staring at Stiles intensely with his cheeks hollowed out and his lips wrapped prettily around Stiles, has him reaching for Derek thoughtlessly. 

Derek’s eyes flutter as Stiles’ nails scrape against his scalp and he moans with Stiles’ next thrust. Stiles takes that as permission to continue, arching his back and planting his heels on the bed to give himself leverage to build a fast rhythm. 

The room is filled with quiet gasps from Stiles and loud wet noises from swallows from Derek until Stiles groans, “I’m close.”

“I’m _really_ close,” he says again when Derek doesn’t move to pull off. “Derek-” Stiles’ breaks off in a low whine as he pulses his release down Derek’s throat. 

Derek sucks and swallows around him gently until Stiles’ cock stops throbbing, pulling off him then with a popping noise and dropping his forehead to Stiles’ hip before Stiles feels the subtle shaking motion of Derek jacking himself off. It’s enough to bring him out of his post-orgasmic daze and get him moving. The last thing he wants is to be a selfish partner. 

“Come here,” he says reaching for Derek and grabbing his arms to drag him into a kiss. It’s rough and desperate and tangy with the taste of himself and Stiles loves it. He loses himself in it until Derek makes a low growling noise against his lips. 

“Wait! Here let me-” he says, pulling out of the kiss and prompting Derek to lay back on the bed while Stiles raises to his knees. 

Stiles takes a quick moment to admire Derek as he gets into a comfortable position. He really is one of the most beautiful men Stiles has ever seen, and somehow Stiles doubts he even knows this about himself. Derek comes off as confident and sometimes downright rude, but he never appears arrogant. He doesn’t think Derek has low self-confidence, but he suspects that maybe Derek doesn’t give too much thought about his own looks. 

The sight of Derek, lying underneath him on the mattress, one hand scratching gently at the curls on his navel and legs spread out with one knee bent, has Stiles blurting the words that are on his mind without thought. “You’re gorgeous.”

Derek huffs out a noise resembling a laugh and rolls his eyes. “I’ve already had your dick in my mouth, Stiles. You don’t have to woo me into bed.”

“I’m not wooing you. Just stating a fact,” Stiles says, and misses the way Derek’s cheeks light up when he leans down to give his attention to Derek’s cock. 

He’s hard, flushed, and leaking. He must have been close to finishing himself before Stiles made him stop. Stiles doesn’t waste anytime sucking Derek into his mouth, not wanting to tease him when he had been so good to Stiles before, and is rewarded when Derek gasps sharply above him.

Other than a few helpless twitches the first couple of times Stiles takes Derek down for enough that his nose brushes against pubes, Derek remains completely still, so Stiles has to focus on the nearly silent noises Derek is making to figure out what it is Derek likes. He moans when Stiles swallows around him and hisses when Stiles presses his tongue firmly against the underside of his dick on his way back up. 

The first real movement Derek makes is when Stiles cups his balls in his palm, gently squeezing while Derek’s knees bend and he presses his thighs against Stiles, like he wants to keep him there. Stiles would grin if he didn’t have a mouth full, instead he cautiously trails his finger down, lightly brushing it along Derek’s crack. 

Derek’s breathing becomes audible and this thighs start to shake against Stiles. Stiles takes this as all the encouragement he needs and presses a finger gently against Derek’s rim, rubbing it while he sucks, and he isn’t surprised in the slightest when Derek comes with a shout.

____

Afterword, Derek stands naked in front of his open bedroom window, getting a bowl ready for them.

“Are you really about to smoke pot with the Sheriff’s son?” Stiles jokes, twisted on his side on the bed to face Derek. 

Derek’s face and voice are both all too sincere when he says, “It’s for my back pain.”

Stiles snorts, rolling onto his back as Derek crawls in the bed next to him. They pass the bowl back and forth between them at a languid pace, sitting in a comfortable silence as the smoke billows around them before making its way out the window.

____

Derek’s phone goes off sometime between the time they finish the bowl and when they started finding shapes together in the pattern of Derek’s ceiling. Stiles almost pouts when Derek reaches for his phone because he was having fun trying to find the motorcycle Derek said he found minutes before. 

Derek squints at his phone before clearing his throat and saying, “Cora says your car is ready to be picked up.”

Stiles hums, making no effort to move from his spot. He hasn’t realized until now how soft Derek’s sheets are and how his mattress feels like it’s absorbing Stiles’ weight perfectly. “Do we have to go get it now?”

“No,” Derek says quickly. “I’m sure she won’t mind if we wait until tomorrow, even.”

Stiles grins and turns back to the ceiling as Derek texts, eyes lazily drifting back and forth to try to find the motorcycle before Derek can tease him again.    
  



	5. Chapter 5

Cora doesn’t waste any time confirming Stiles’ worst fears the moment he steps into her office. 

“Bad news? Somebody fucked with your car,” she says. “Good news? Whoever it was obviously didn’t know what they were doing. They took the battery and banged up a few things, nothing irreversible though. So you know it wasn’t one of the Wolves that did it.”

Stiles blinks. “I didn’t think that.” 

He already knew who it was. He just wasn’t sure what he was going to do about it. 

Cora shrugs. “The Wolves tend to get blamed for most of the crime around here, at least by the police anyway. Even the stuff we’re not involved with.” She laughs suddenly as if someone said a joke, but it’s just her and Stiles in the office. “I’m kidding of course.”

“Right,” Stiles says, letting that go and reaching into his pocket to pull out his wallet.“How much did the damage end up costing me?”

Cora chews her lips and gives Stiles a once over before replying, “We’ll call it even this time.”

The wallet slips from Stiles’ hand in his shock and he scrambles to catch it before it hits the ground. “Call what even? I haven’t done anything for you. If this is because I’m the Sheriff’s son-”

“Trust me, if I did anything because of you being the Sheriff’s son, you wouldn’t have liked it.” She gives a smile that’s all teeth. “No this is because I haven’t seen Derek in this good of a mood in years.”

Stiles looks out the office window to where Derek is standing nearby where he parked his bike when dropping Stiles off. He looks exactly like the same old grumpy Derek Stiles had met not too long ago, at three in the morning in his driveway. He’s wearing the same leather jacket and gloves, and his face is set in the same scowl as it is ninety percent of the time. 

“This is what he’s like when he’s in a good mood?” Stiles asks in disbelief. 

He’s still watching Derek so he sees when Derek slowly shakes his head at something that must be going on in the car shop out of Stiles’ sight. 

From her seat behind her desk, Cora lets out a heartfelt laugh. 

 

\----

 

Cora tosses his keys at him before he leaves so really, Stiles could just walk over to where his jeep is parked, hop in, and drive away. He makes his way toward Derek instead and stubbornly doesn't allow himself to think too hard about the reasons behind his actions. 

Derek tracks his movements with a heady look in his eye that makes Stiles feel clumsy on his feet. He’s confident enough in himself to know he’s handsome, and Derek has already proved more than once that he’s attracted to Stiles, but for some reason Derek’s undivided attention makes him feel like an insecure teenager all over again. 

“Hey,” he says when he’d still several steps away in an attempt to break the tension.

Derek nods and moves forward to meet him. “How’d it go in there?”

“Fine,” Stiles says coming to an abrupt stop on his heels when he realizes they’re close enough to each other. “Your sister is something else.”

Something like fondness crosses Derek’s face. “Yeah. She is.”

 

“She made me feel a little bit like a prostitute though,” Stiles says teasingly and grins at the answering expression on Derek’s face. 

“And how exactly did she do that?”

“Wouldn’t let me pay for the work she did on my jeep today, since apparently I make you happy.” Stiles can’t help but feel a little unsatisfied when the only reaction he gets from Derek is a lifted brow. He’d been hoping for some surprise at least. 

“That’s the effect multiple orgasms will have,” Derek says with a wink that makes Stiles’ chest constrict. 

“Oh,” Stiles says. “Well, you too?”

“Me too?” Derek asks, and there’s a twinkle in his eye that makes Stiles think he’s playing dumb to mess with him. 

“You make me,” he coughs. “I mean you make my dick, like happy or whatever. With orgasms.”

A loud noise comes from somewhere inside the garage, followed by several loud curse words from voices Stiles thinks he recognizes as Erica and Isaac but Stiles can’t see either of them from where he’s standing. 

“Are they okay?”

Derek snorts. “I’m sure they will be.” 

Stiles nods. There’s an awkward, expectant moment of silence where they both seem to be wanting the conversation to continue, but can’t think of what to say themselves. Stiles takes that as a sign that it’s time for him to leave.

“Well I guess I’ll see you around.” He turns around and only makes it four steps toward where his jeep is parked before Derek calls after him.

“Stiles.” Stiles does a half turn and finds Derek frozen mid-step, like he had made to come after Stiles but thought better of it. “Do you know who would have wanted to mess with the jeep?”

“How did you-” Stiles shakes his head. Cora must have told him through text before they got to the garage. “I don’t know who it was. Probably just someone wanting to get some parts to sell and my baby was the unlucky victim.” He forces a laugh out. 

Derek scowls. “You really don’t know anyone that would have wanted to mess with you? Someone with a grudge?”

“I feel like you’d have a better idea than I do. You remember how we met, right?” Stiles asks, then sighs with Derek continues scowling at him. “I don’t know who it was, Derek. Really.”

“You’re lying.”

“I’m not-” Stiles scrubs a hand over his scalp. “Why do you care?”

Derek doesn’t have an answer for that, not that Stiles waits around long for him to come up with one. He turns his back on Derek and the hopeless, irrational thought that a few rounds of good sex had made Derek somehow concerned about his wellbeing. 

 

______________

  
  


After the day at the garage, Stiles does what he should have started doing after the first time he stayed the night at Derek’s place, and avoids him.  It’s not a hard task since Derek and Stiles don’t exactly run with the same crowds. Not that Stiles really has a crowd in Beacon Hills, other than his dad and, more recently, Scott. 

For the next couple weeks Stiles maintains a predictable routine of working at the Sheriff’s department during the day and playing online video games with Scott in the evening until his eyes are dried out and his limbs are tingling with numbness.

It helps distract him for the most part, especially since he’s working full time doing paperwork now that Argent has the force doing double patrols in an attempt to catch the Wolves doing anything and screaming at officers everytime the sheriff isn’t around to reign her in. 

He only thinks about Derek and the worrying fact that he actually misses him several times a day. 

He only thinks about being stalked by his crazy ex boyfriend, who has been suspiciously silent since messing with Stiles’ jeep, every second that he’s alone.

His two weeks of a semi-peaceful routine ends on a Wednesday in July when he is getting in his jeep to leave for work and finds a picture taped face down to the driver-side door. He looks inside the jeep and around him as he rips it off the door. He spares the photo on the other side-a picture of him and Matt during a study session last semester with the words **_I’m sorry_ ** writing in red over it- only a glance before he rips it to shreds. 

A dark, dangerous part of him hopes Matt stuck around somewhere out of sight and saw him. He knows soon something is going to have to break. Matt isn’t going to leave him alone. He can’t talk to his dad about any of this because his job is giving him enough stress as it is. And Stiles himself isn’t passive enough to let himself be bullied any longer. The next time he catches Matt anywhere near him, he’ll put a stop to this madness somehow. 

He feels the tension radiating from the workers of the Sheriff’s the moment he steps into the department building. They’re all overworked, but they manage to smile at least half heartedly when they see Stiles’ arms full with breakfast sandwiches and coffee from the cafe down the street. He knows at least half of them, including his dad, have been there since last night.

He makes sure to grab a coffee and sandwich for his dad, sliding out of the way of the crowd before the hoard of exhausted, hungry policemen get to it. He waves away the thanks he gets from several of them on his way to his dad’s office, figuring it was the least he could do since he wasn’t able to work overtime like the rest of them.

Stiles has his hand raised to knock on his dad’s office door when he hears angry voices coming from the other side. 

“I’m starting to think you don’t have what it takes to get the job done around here, Sheriff.” It was Kate Argent. Stiles grits his teeth but waits out his dad’s response. He doesn’t have to wait long. 

“If by getting the job done, you mean violating several guidelines and moral codes then no, I don’t guess I do.” 

“They’re a group of criminals, Stilinski. They deserve to rot in prison.”

“Some of them are kids,” his dad says. “Hell, most of them are my son’s age or not much older. They deserve a chance.”

Argent laughs nastily. “What about Peter Hale?”

“He’ll slip up at some point and we’ll be there to bring him in when he does. Legally.”

“You’re naive, Stilinski.”

“Funnily enough, I was thinking the very same thing about you,” his dad says. “Regardless, this is my department and I’m not approving this. Think of something that doesn’t put us on the same page as the criminals we put behind bars.”

Stiles backs away from the door quickly but his dad’s voice calling out again must stop Kate on her way out. He’s using his Sheriff’s voice and Stiles finds himself freezing as well. 

“And don’t even try going behind my back on this Argent, I won’t hesitate to go to your superiors at this point.”

If Kate has a response to this, Stiles doesn’t hear or see it. Then the door swings open and Stiles comes face to face with Kate Argent.

For a split second her fury shows on her face, but when she registers Stiles is witness to it, her expression evens out into a calm mask. 

“Hello Stiles,” she says through gritted teeth. Her smile looks like a snarl. 

“Good morning,” Stiles says. His grin isn’t fake, as he had been just waiting for his dad to put his foot down every since his very first meeting with her. 

Her eyes flicker up and down his form, making him feel itchy all over. 

“Did you bring coffee for me?” She all but purrs. 

“Sure,” he says, then side steps her when she reaches for the cup in his head, moving into his dad’s office. “It’s up at the front desk. If there’s any left.” He doesn’t give her time to respond before he swings his heel out and kicks the door shut behind him. 

His dad looks a mixture of stressed and amused when Stiles turns around to face him. 

“How much of that did you hear?”

Stiles stares at him with wide innocent eyes. “How much of what did I hear?”

“Stiles, I saw the shadow of your feet under the door.”

“Oh! You meant how much of your conversation with Argent did I hear? Enough to know that she’s causing you trouble again.”

His dad yawns, prompting Stiles to hurry forward to put his coffee and breakfast on the desk in front of him. 

“Thank you,” his dad smiles at him gratefully and takes a sip from his cup before he continues. “She was trying to cause trouble. I managed to put at stop to this crazy plan at least.”

“What was she trying to do?” 

“Hmm,” his dad unwraps his sandwich and takes a large bite out of it, chewing slowly while Stiles practically vibrates with anxious twitches in front of him. “I’d hate to distract you from all the work you have to get done.”

“Dad come on,” Stiles groans. He marches over to his seat and makes a show of setting up his laptop to start filing backed up reports. “I can multitask!”

“Stiles.”

“I got you breakfast and everything!”

“Oh I see. So that was all a bribe, then?”

“How else am I going to get you to tell me everything?”

His dad stares at him, stern and unrelenting. 

Stiles stares back, determined and unrelenting.

His dad breaks first, sighing and scrubbing a hand over his face while Stiles uses the moment he isn’t looking to pump a fist in the air. 

“Alright you win. Now put your fist down, you’re a grown man.”

Stiles places both hands in his lap. “Well?” he prompts. 

Another infuriatingly long pause, then, “She wanted to blackmail one of them into becoming an informant for us.”

“Blackmail who? And with what?”

His dad looks at him sharply. “Does it matter who? It’s the type of technique my department isn’t going to lower itself to, no matter what.”

“I think it does,” Stiles says, thinking quickly. “Depending on what exactly Argent has on which club member. She might try to use it in the future.”

“Guess that would have been smart of me to figure out.” His dad grimaces. “These twenty-four hour shifts are getting the better of me.”

“Then stop doing them,” Stiles says. “Tell Kate to shove it and go home and get some rest. I can handle most things until you get back, and Parrish can help with the rest.”

“Thanks son,” his dad smiles at him. “But as much as I appreciate it, the only reason I get could Argent off my back was to approve her sending out a warrant for Derek Hale’s night club. If it gets approved by the judge, we’ll be raiding it sometime this afternoon.”

Stiles pulse thuds through his veins. “Derek Hale’s-Why?”

“He’s one of the suspects on the Lahey case. He’s close with the Lahey boy. If Isaac was being abused by his father, then Derek might have felt the need to do something drastic to protect him.”

“Do you really think he did it? That he’d have left evidence at his nightclub?” Stiles asks. 

“Possibly,” his dad says. “His older sister passed not too long before Lahey’s death. I’d say maybe he was already emotional, he saw his friend being hurt and figured he’d take matters into his own hand.”

It’s actually not far off from what Derek had hinted at in this very room, but hearing his dad reach a similar conclusion is a shock. 

“But if Derek murdered Mr. Lahey to protect his friend, then-”

“Stiles I know where you’re going. Just don’t, okay?” his dad says, holding up a hand to silence him. “The law is the law. A murder is a murder. It’s that simple.” 

Stiles doesn’t feel like it is that simple, but he knows this is a losing fight. 

 

________________

 

It takes Stiles a distressingly short amount of time to make up his mind on what he’s going to do once his dad steps out. 

He stares at the lock screen of his phone for all of thirty seconds before going into his contacts and finding the one that says McSexy. 

He types out a warning.

Reads over the message three times. 

Erases it. 

Types it out again. 

Reads over it once more.

Hits send.

 

He never gets a reply from Derek, but he does get one from his dad several hours later from his dad informing him that they found nothing in the raid, and that his father was headed home to sleep finally. After that, Stiles locks himself in his father’s office for the rest of the day fighting off guilt strong enough to make him want to throw up. 

 

_________________

 

Stiles wakes up a little after three in the morning to see a figure sitting on the edge of his bed, leaning over him.

He screams, or tries to, but a hand covers his mouth before he finishing inhaling for it. 

His next step try to fight despite the fact that his legs are hopelessly tangled in his sheets. He uses his fists instead, hitting blindly at the person above him once, twice, three times-

“Stiles. Stiles stop,” A voice whispers harshly in his ear and the sound Stiles makes when he registers that it’s only Derek is shaky and high pitched with his relief. “It’s just me. I’m not gonna hurt you. Okay?” 

He slowly pulls his hand away after Stiles nods. By now Stiles’ eyesight has adjusted to where he can see Derek, and the concerned expression lining his face, in detail.

“I know you won’t,” he says, trying to slow down his breath. “I just didn’t know it was you at first, you asshole. You nearly gave me a heart attack!”

“I noticed.” Derek places a palm on Stiles’ chest over his heart. He keeps his chin tilted down while he looks at Stiles through his lashes and says, “Sorry.”

Stiles closes his eyes to avoid looking at Derek’s devastatingly adorable pout and he feels Derek move closer to him. His mattress shifts and suddenly he feels Derek’s forehead pressed against his. His warm breath ghosts over Stiles cheeks and lips. 

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” he insists. 

Stiles finally manages to take a full breath in, letting Derek’s scent overwhelm his senses. 

Stiles sighs and opens his eyes to face Derek. “What are you doing here?”

“Why did you warn me about the raid today?”

“You couldn’t just text me this?”

“That was a huge risk,” Derek says, ignoring Stiles’ question.   
“I know.” The guilt is back, rearing its ugly head and roaring.

“It was illegal.”

“I know.” The nausea comes back as well, and Stiles worries he might throw up all over Derek’s pretty face.

“You could have gotten yourself and your father into a lot of trouble.”

“Derek!” Panic now, traveling in a sharp twist through his core. “You don’t have to-”

Derek barrels on, interrupting him. 

“So what I would like to know is why,” he says, eyes wide and searching. “Why would you take such a chance on me?”

“I-I don’t know,” Stiles stammers, but isn’t quite right. He does know, he’s just too much of a coward to put words to it. 

Derek lifts a brow. “You don’t know?”

“Nope.”

“Really?”

“Yup.”

“Stiles.”

“Well what do you want me to say Derek?” Stiles asks. He’s speaking too fast but he can’t help himself. “That I work for the police department and I’ve been fucking someone that is suspected of murder. That I heard my dad was coming to raid your club and I couldn’t help worrying about you. That I know it’s just sex but for some reason I had to warn you.”

“It’s not just sex,” Derek says suddenly.

“And I-What?” Stiles asks. “What?”

“For me it’s not,” Derek says. His cheeks light up. “It isn’t just sex.”

“ _ Oh. _ ” 

 

When Derek fucks him that night it’s gentle in a way that they’ve never done before. 

He fucks Stiles face to face with nearly every inch of their skin touching, close and intimate.

And so, so slow.

Derek keeps him on edge for what feels like hours, lying in between Stiles’ legs and pinning his wrists above his head so Stiles can’t move an inch if Derek doesn’t allow it. He rolls his hips into Stiles, grinding deep and pulling moans and praises from Stiles before he draws back out. 

Stiles’ dick is pressed in between both their stomachs, hard and leaking, with the coarse hair under Derek’s belly button providing delicious friction that is somehow both too intense and not enough at once. It’s overwhelming, but he keeps giving and letting Derek take and mark him all over. 

Everytime Stiles thinks he’s finally about to finish, Derek backs off, kissing away Stiles’ whines until he’s too breathless to complain. It goes on like that for what feels like several wonderful hours, until Stiles is nearly too exhausted to keep his eyes open. 

“Stiles. Stiles,” he keeps saying, over and over.

And it isn’t until Stiles is shaking apart underneath him that Stiles realizes what Derek’s trying to say is more than just his name. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ****SKIP THIS NOTE if you don't want minor spoilers/ vague hints about where this is going. Let me know if there is anything else you think should be tagged!!
> 
> Warnings for this chapter:  
> -Panic Attacks  
> -Threats of death and violence  
> -Mild gore

Stiles notices a change after that. Both in his relationship with Derek and his relationship with others.

It starts with Lydia, who calls him one night randomly to complain about Jackson’s love life, or lack thereof, and asks for Stiles help with ideas to set him up with his childhood best friend. That somehow turns into a weekly lunch date with Lydia, talking and listening to the latest gossip she’s heard around town. She’s catty and incredibly intelligent. Stiles loves her. 

It doesn’t surprise him when he learns that she’s dating Derek’s sister either, together they make a deadly power couple. Stiles would pity anyone that crossed either one of them and had to face the wrath of both. 

His conversations with Lydia eventually lead to Jackson cornering him in the mall while he’s taking advantage of a clothing sale. Stiles knows from lunch with Lydia earlier that Jackson and his childhood friend have made things official, and Jackson must know that Stiles was involved somehow. 

“We tell each other everything,” Lydia had told him. “That’s how I found out about the- I mean, that’s how I met Cora.”

Jackson never thanks Stiles, but he does rip the shirt Stiles was considering out of his hands and throws three nicer, softer shirts at him to replace that one. Jackson leaves the store without a goodbye, and Stiles with a significantly improved wardrobe and the impression that the spontaneous shopping spree must have been Jackson’s way of getting even.

The rest of the pack follow Lydia and Jackson’s lead soon after. 

It’s a Tuesday afternoon while Stiles is being cussed out by an angry old lady in line at the grocery store for wearing a one of his new shirts because she thought boys shouldn’t be wearing pink, making him anxious and red-faced at the scene she was causing him to be part of, when suddenly a large warm hand landed on his shoulder.

Stiles doesn’t immediately look over at the new person, although he can see from his peripherals that they’re tall and dark. The expression on his face must be stern, because the woman stopped talking so fast it sounded like her voice box gave out mid-word. 

“Leave,” the man beside him says. His voice is quiet and nearly expressionless but the woman listens, almost tripping over her own two feet as she backs away through the crowd that has started to surround them.

“Thank you,” Stiles stammers, tilting his head up and meeting Boyd’s gaze. Like with the other Wolves, Stiles recognizes him from the files the police have on him. His is one of the smaller ones, as he doesn’t have a criminal record and not much about his history is known to the police. 

The rest of the town certainly know as much as Stiles does, even if Boyd wasn’t a large man with a stern expression, the leather jacket with the howling wolf stitched to the back shows where he belongs. 

He stays with Stiles until Stiles gets to his jeep, then gives him a nods to send him on his way.

Erica comes for him next, only a few days after Boyd, wearing a low cut shirt that threatens to destroy any sense of manners Stiles was raised with. She says she needs someone to go out with her and takes Stiles by the hand, literally dragging him out of his house without getting his permission. 

They go to a local bar and drink and dance together until Stiles can hardly feel his legs. Then, they sit at the bar and Stiles pretends to be Erica’s boyfriend to keep creeps away, both of them tipsy and giggling the entire night until Boyd comes to pick them up. Initially Stiles panics when Boyd sits down beside them, given how close Stiles and Erica are sitting, but he just sends Stiles a small grateful smile before he herds both of them away from their drinks. 

Isaac steadily worms his way into Stiles’ video game sessions with Scott, both online and when he’s over at Scott’s house on the weekends. He’s quiet, but not shy. He can be a bit of a cocky asshole, especially when he’s beating them in game, so he fits right in. 

Stiles is polite enough to ignore the way that Scott always ends up between the two of them, because Scott likes sitting next to Isaac, and Isaac likes sitting next to Scott. 

It’s during one of those video game sessions that Stiles builds up the nerve to ask Scott about the sudden changes that have been happening over the past week and his sudden rise in popularity with the Wolves. 

He wants to be discreet about the fact that he noticed, take his time warming up to the subject, but Stiles has never been known for his discretion, and he knows he only has so much time before Isaac gets back from the bathroom.

So what he asks is, “Why do the Wolves suddenly want to hang out with me?” 

Scott startles and nearly drops his controller from his lap, causing Stiles to race past him to the finish line. Toad turns and gives the camera a thumbs up while Yoshi veers off of the course and crashes. 

“I...don’t know what you mean,” Scott says, voice cracking. 

“Scott. Dude,” Stiles says. “Not cool.” Because lying is definitely against their bro code. He hopes.

“Dude,” Scott shoots back. “I don’t know if I should get into it.”

“Well I do know,” Stiles says, and shoves his shoulder. “Tell me.”

“Derek told us about the text last week. How you warned him about the raid.”

That doesn’t really surprise Stiles so he says, “Yeah. So?”

“Well that kinda proved to Peter what Derek and I had been trying to tell him all along,” Scott says. “That you were safe. So he gave everyone the clear that they could, interact and whatever.”

“He didn’t allow it before?”

“Nope.” Scott shakes his head. “You’re the Sheriff’s son, remember?”

Stiles chuckles. “I remember.” Then he frowns. “But you and Derek had already been hanging around me before that?”

There’s a long pause before Scott speaks again, and Stiles can tell he’s thinking his word choice over carefully. “Peter doesn’t have as much influence on us as he does the others.”

“Why not?”

Scott grimaces. “It’s complicated, dude. I don’t know if I can-”

“Hey it’s fine,” Stiles says, bumping Scott’s shoulder. “When am I going to meet Peter anyway?”

Scott shoots him an incredulous look. “You  _ want _ to meet him?”

“Well I’ve met most everyone else.” Stiles shrugs. “It’s about time, right?”   
  


_________

 

In light of all the new activity in his life, Stiles makes the mistake of forgetting about Matt. Forgetting that he’s being stalked by an aggressive psycho. 

Forgetting that Derek isn’t the only one who would want to break into his room in the middle of the night. 

So, when he wakes up to a shadowy figure standing over his bed, he thinks nothing of it. In fact, he smiles and closes his eyes, shifting back on the bed to make room for the intruder. Because Derek has snuck in so many times by now that Stiles’ mind doesn’t even think about the fact that it could be someone else.

He hears the figure steps closer, quietly. No words are spoken at all. Stiles thinks Derek must be being respectful of Stiles’s obvious exhaustion. 

The bed shifts with added weight on it, but the intruder doesn’t move to lay down on the bed with Stiles like Derek would. This makes Stiles frown. Warning bells start going off in his head, signaling something is  _ wrong-wrong-wrong _ .

He opens his eyes just as a cloud passes by the moon outside, lighting up his room through the open window and casting a silver glow around his room. 

Matt looms over him, dressed in all black. A flash of light draws Stiles’ attention to Matt’s hands. It’s the moonlight reflecting off the silver pistol in Matt’s hand, the one he has pointed right at Stiles’ face. 

Stiles freezes. 

“Hello baby,” Matt says, grinning at him. “Sorry I’ve been too busy at work to stop by much lately. I missed you.”

Stiles swallows audibly but doesn’t reply. 

“Although I don’t think you missed me very much. I saw your new toy climb through your window a couple of times.” Matt’s face twists in anger and the gun twitches in his hand enough to make Stiles jump. “You were only here  _ days _ before you found a new cock to jump on! What about me, huh? What about us? I thought you  _ loved  _ me.”

Stiles had never told Matt that he loved him, even when they were together.

“Don’t hurt my dad,” he says, voice steady despite the fact that he’s shivering under the covers. 

“Oh don’t worry I won’t,” Matt says. “As long as you come with me. Quietly.”

Stiles nods and stands up slowly. Matt straightens with him. 

Once they’re eye to eye a sudden vicious thought goes through Stiles’ head. 

_ I’ll kill him for this _ , he thinks.

Something must show on his face because Matt’s expression sharpens and his grip on the gun tightens. 

“Head downstairs and out the front door,” he commands. “My car is parked on the street three houses down.” He smirks. “I hope you don’t mind driving.”

“I don’t suppose you’ll let me put some clothes or shoes before we go, will you?” 

Matt shakes his head solemnly and Stiles sighs, but nods. Boxers and a t-shirt will have to do. 

He leads Matt down the hall, being extra cautious as he walks past his dad’s door. He can hear his dad snoring through the cracked door, sleeping peacefully. A small, childish part of him wishes his dad would wake up and come bursting through his bedroom door to save him. A larger part of him, the part that was raised as a police officer’s son, knows his dad-half-asleep and surprised- would stand no chance against Matt and his gun. For that, he’s thankful that his dad remains asleep as Matt follows him down the stairs and out his house.

They get to Matt’s sleek black car, parked three houses down just like he said, and Matt waves him toward the driver door. He’s smart enough not to hand Stiles the keys right away, instead waiting until he’s settled in the passenger seat, buckled up, and leaning over with his right arm resting on the center council to press the pistol into Stiles’ ribs. Only then does he toss the keys in Stiles’ lap and let him start the car. 

“You need to tell me where we’re going before I start driving.”

Matt grins at him. “The Hale reservation, get to the entrance and I’ll direct you from there.”

 

Stiles drives them outside of town, pulls off the road far enough that no passing vehicles will see Matt’s car, and follows Matt’s directions into the middle of the woods where he’s very likely going to meet his death.

The moon is high and full in the sky above them, casting light through the trees to mark their path. Even with the light, Stiles trips and stumbles over stray twigs, getting several scrapes along his unprotected feet and legs. If Matt notices his struggles, he doesn’t comment or allow the sharp cool metal of the pistol to come out of contact with his lower back. 

They reach a clearing and Stiles stumbles to a stop when he spots what’s waiting for them there. 

There’s a hole in the ground in center of the clearing, dug around three feet deep. Rose petals are sprinkled on the ground around the hole and small cross, painted red sits over the end furthest from Stiles. It has his name scratched on it.

“Matt,” he tries to say and chokes on it. The severity of the situation hits him with a force that nearly throws him off his feet. “ _ Matt. _ ”

“I know, I know.” Matt places both hands on Stiles’ shoulders, massaging them gently like that would help soothe Stiles. 

Stiles doesn’t have any idea where the gun went. He’s hyper-focused on the image of his name on the cross. Matt didn’t even bother to dot the i in Stiles’ name. 

“Why are you doing this?” He doesn’t choke on his words this time, but his voice cracks and breaks around the very first word.

Matt’s grip on his shoulders tightens right before he twirls Stiles around to face him. His expression is that of someone on the brink. 

“Because I love you baby,” he says and irritation bleeds through Stiles’ shock. He’d always hated pet names. “I love you and it hurts that you’d be with someone else over me.” 

“Enough that you’d kill me?” Stiles asks incredulously. “Matt, you’re insane.”

Matt’s expression twists right before he backhands Stiles. It’s hard enough to snap his head to the side. Enough to make him angry. His head turns slow to face Matt again. 

“I’m sorry, but you know I hate it when you call me that,” Matt sighs. “It’s just...look, _ I know _ we’re meant to be together. If not in this life then in the next. First it’ll be you, then me. I’ll make it quick and painless. I promise,” Matt says sincerely. 

_ I’m not ready to die, _ Stiles decides, a silent thought, while looking Matt in the eye. 

What he says out loud is, “Don’t I at least get a goodbye kiss?”

Matt smiles at him, so sweet and happy. “Of course, baby.” 

He leans forward, tilting his head and closing his eyes, like Stiles knew he would. That’s the moment Stiles throws back his arm and swings it forward, punching Matt in the throat. 

He spins on his heel, running back into the woods as Matt makes strangled, choking noises behind him. 

Clouds now covering the moon make it too dark for him to make out where he’s going, but Stiles doesn’t care as long as it’s away from Matt. He weaves through trees and jumps over roots that he only sees at the very last second. 

A bullet hits the ground beside him as a gunshot rings through the air. It makes Stiles scream but he doesn’t slow down. 

He can hear Matt crashing through the woods behind him as he chases Stiles. There’s something else too. The loud thundering of footsteps, heavier than a human would have. It’s coming from somewhere ahead of him and getting louder with each second. Stiles can’t afford to slow down though. 

“Stiles!” Matt yells from behind him. He sounds close. “I’ll kill you! I’ll fucking kill you!”

A roar answers him, loud enough to shake the ground beneath Stiles’ feet. Suddenly Stiles sees a huge shape come through the trees. He barely has time to process mountains of black fur and a flash of sapphire eyes before his mind registers that it’s running at him, fast. 

He can’t turn around and has no idea how he’d even be able to fight off the creature, so he moves on instinct alone and waits until it’s close, then drops to the ground on his knees.

The hair on his scalp moves with the breeze left behind as the thing leaps over him.

While Stiles can’t move, frozen by fear and shock, he can certainly hear. 

He can hear when Matt screams, high and in fear. 

He hears the snarl the vibrates Stiles’ entire torso.

He hears Matt scream again, the fear now mixed with pain. 

A sharp crack in the air, louder even than Matt’s screams, immediately followed by what sounds a hundred drops of rain hitting the ground all at once. 

And then there’s only silence.

Silence and the sound of Stiles’ ragged breathes in the night air.

The huff of warm, moist breath on the back of his neck gets him moving again. He scrambles around, wanting to at least see what it was that saved him from Matt before it ate him too.

His mind decides that it must be a wolf looking back at him, but even he knows that's not quite right. It towers above him, so high that if Stiles were standing straight up he's sure the wolf would be taller than him. It's fur is a darker black than the shadows lining the forest behind him, and it's sapphire eyes pierce through Stiles' peering back at him with a deep intelligence.

This time, the warm huff of breath washes over Stiles' face and he shudders as the wolf's lips part, revealing sharp, blood stained canines. They'll be coated with his blood next, he's sure.

The wolf steps even closer still, it's paw landing with a heavy thud next to Stiles' thigh as it lowers it's belly closer to the ground. Stiles closes his eyes then, shaking as the wolf presses up against him. It's fur is thick and softer than Stiles expects it to be. It's also a little damp in some spots and Stiles knows if he thinks about why that is hard enough he'll be sent spiraling.

It's safer to wonder what the wolf is doing right now. Why it's pressing up against him the way that it is, paws encasing Stiles between them as it uses Stiles' lap as a sort of pillow. Maybe It wants easy access to his stomach, Stiles decides, and a quick high pitched noise escapes with his next exhale.

The wolf echoes the sound, and for a brief hysterical moment Stiles thinks its mocking him. Then it does it again, and again. The high whines lowering a pitch so it sounds like the wolf is purring at him. After about thirty seconds of listening to the non threatening sound, Stiles decides it might be safe enough to open his eyes and not see death immediately come for him.

He doesn't look at the wolf in his lap right away, doesn't think he can handle that yet, instead he looks back in the forest, toward where he came from and discovers something much worse.

Matt lies crumbled on the forest floor, only meters away from where Stiles and the wolf sit. His body is bent, crooked in a way no human could maneuver on their own. His eyes are wide and sightless, staring off toward something over Stiles' shoulder. There's red all around him on the forest floor.

Stiles' mind breaks a little bit then, his little shudders turn into earthquakes, shaking so bad his teeth chatter. He makes more of those whining noises the wolf seemed to like so much, but those eventually stop when all he can do is breathe in and in and in without figuring out who to push air back out of his lungs.

He's vaguely aware of the wolf rising and moving off of him, blocking his view of Matt, but the damage is done, the image of Matt's corpse is seared into his memory, something he'll never forget.

The wolf is making noises again, different ones this time. They are more whimpers than anything and if Stiles were capable at all it'd make him want to comfort the beast. As it is, he can only focus on trying to figure out how to breathe properly again as the whimpers grow louder, partnered with a strange, deep cracking sound, like bones popping.

Stiles' vision has spots in it by the time the whimpers deepen into a low, very human, groaning. And then impossibly, Stiles hears his name coming from a very familiar voice.

"Stiles. Stiles," Derek says, and suddenly it's him crouched in front of Stiles, Hazel eyes wide with concern as he cups Stiles' face in his hand. "Stiles," he says again, like it's the only word he knows.

"Derek," Stiles babbles. It is the only word he knows. "Derek, Derek, Derek-"

Derek silences him with a kiss. It's just a quick peck, but it teaches Stiles how to breathe again. "I was so worried," he says while Stiles gasps in front of him. "Your heartbeat was so loud, I felt it like my own. He was going to kill you." The last words are an angry growl, a deeper noise than Stiles knew Derek was capable of.

"He was but then-" Stiles cuts himself off as he pushes away from Derek to scan the area around them frantically. "Where did the wolf go?"

"He won't hurt you," Derek says, so surely Stiles turns back to him frowning.

That's when he sees the blood smeared on Derek's naked torso. The blood caked on his chin. Something clicks in his mind then, as Stiles remembers the damp fur from the wolf pressed against him. He remembers how unnaturally large the wolf, it's eerie glowing blue eyes. Not just a wolf, Stiles' mind screams as he looks at Derek, who appears to glow under the silver light of the full moon.

"Your books," he says hoarsely.

Derek blinks at him, tilting his head to the side.

"You had books about Werewolves in your living room at home," Stiles clarifies. "There were so many of them. I thought you were into supernatural romances. I thought you didn't want me to see them because you were embarrassed." He doesn't fight the urge to laugh when it comes. It's better than the alternative, which might lead him to pulling his hair out and screaming in another panic attack.

Derek cups Stiles' face again. He doesn't seem to like the idea of not touching Stiles right now. "It's alright. I'm not going to hurt you. Let me take you home and I'll explain everything."

It sounds like a logical plan, which is what Stiles needs right now, so Stiles nods as his chuckles die down. He needs to get something off his chest before they leave though.

"You saved me," Stiles states. "He was going to kill me and then you came and-."

"I'd never let anything hurt you," Derek says, soft and sincere, and Stiles can't fight the urge to lean forward and kiss him then.

It’s a desperate thing, all force and teeth. He presses himself up against Derek so hard that Derek rocks back, hands falling away from Stiles’ face as he falls back against the dirt ground. Stiles follows him down, settling in between Derek’s thighs when they spread for him. Derek’s hands come up to his sides, kneading the flesh around his ribs and hips, sometimes pressing hard enough that Stiles feels the faint scrape of claws before Derek’s touch softens. 

His own hands make their path down Derek’s torso, enjoying the combination of soft flesh and firm muscle, ignoring the slick. With Derek being naked and Stiles only in his boxers, it’s so easy to press his hips down against Derek and feel the arousal coming from them both. 

Derek breaks away with gasp and looks up at Stiles, eyes blown, cheeks flushed and mouth a pretty red. It makes him lean in for another kiss without thinking, only to be stopped when Derek’s hands tighten on his hips. 

“Stiles, you’re still shaking.”

It makes him pause for a moment to take inventory of himself. “Only a little,” he finally decides. “It’s okay. Really,” he insists when Derek shakes his head. “I want this.”

“I don’t. Not in the state you’re in right now,” Derek says. That above all else has Stiles pulling away.

“Sorry,” he mutters. ”I don’t know what came over me just then. I just wanted-”  _ to be close to you _ , he doesn’t say.

Derek’s eyes soften like he heard Stiles’ unspoken confession. “Let’s get you back to my place, okay? You need to calm down and sleep. Tomorrow morning we’ll figure all this out.”

“But what about…” Stiles keeps his eyes on Derek’s face as he jerks his chin toward the gory scene he knows is nearby.

The sound of twigs snapping makes Stiles jump, but Derek calmly turns toward the noise, rubbing soothing circles along Stiles’ skin to let him know it’s okay. 

A man appears from the trees to their right, tall lean and very much nude as he steps out from the shadows. He takes in the scene with a raised brow, looking over toward Matt’s body, then at Derek and finally, resting on Stiles. His eyes flicker red and Stiles knows he must be Peter, must be another wolf like Derek.

“I’ll call Chris to clean up this mess,” he says in a bored drawl. “Take the boy and leave.”

Derek’s eyes flash bright blue. “Yes Alpha,” he says. 

As they stand together, Stiles catches a glimpse of several pairs of glowing yellow eyes just beyond Peter’s shoulder. The sight should strike fear through him but, as Derek puts an arm around his shoulders and starts pulling him away, he’s not scared at all. 

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! If you liked this, feel free to leave a comment and/or a kudos!   
> You can also find me screaming about fandom stuff at [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/glaciya)  
> [Tumblr](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/glaciya) and [Twitter!](https://twitter.com/glaciiya)


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